


International Man of Misery

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Comedy, Flirting, Frottage, Grinding, Kidnapping, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Language, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Mathias Shaw, intelligence agent and occasional assassin, undertakes a routine reconnaissance mission to gather information on the supply and sale of illegal weapons across international borders. All across the United States, local operations are suspected to be providing goods to the mysterious global network of radicals, AZSHARA, and through collaboration with his networks of cloak-and-dagger professionals, all he needed to do was find out was if this was true, and why.His routine mission goes off the rails, however, when Flynn Fairwind enters the picture. A former drug boat captain with a fondness for ficuses, Flynn proves to be menace of international proportions. Or at least, a romantic one.M for now, will be E >:3
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 65
Kudos: 57





	1. PART ONE: COLLISION ~ CHAPTER ONE: MATHIAS

**Author's Note:**

> This story description makes this sound far more compelling than it actually is, i'm afraid. There's not much intrigue or mystery, or even that much stabbing/spy things. I just wanted to try a new setting in which these clowns could fall in love. 
> 
> I'm very sorry, Ian Flemming. 
> 
> Lol jk actually I have no regrets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART ONE: COLLISION

It was supposed to be by the book.

Mathias sighed, and slumped against the wall of the office-slash-holding cell, his eyes fixed on the single naked lightbulb that hung from a cable on the ceiling. Things had been going so well for them, too, right up until the moment they weren’t anymore, and unfortunately that moment had been about halfway through a sweep of the warehouse they had been casing. The only mercy was that they had found what they had been looking for before he was caught, and although he was thankful that Tess had managed to get away, he was very nearly livid that he hadn’t. As for the crucial mistake that had landed him here… well, it was the kind of mistake a novice might make, not a seasoned professional with fifteen years in the field.

He clenched his jaw tight enough that his teeth hurt, and tried not to think about it.

“So,” The other man in the room, who had tried and failed to engage him in conversation at least three times already, was very clearly prepared to try again. “do you come here often?”

Mathias turned to look at him, his contempt probably obvious on his face. Where he was sitting on the floor, his back flat against the stark concrete wall, the other man had made himself comfortable on the only furniture-like object in the room - a single wooden beer crate, covered in scuff marks and inverted to resemble a thoroughly disappointing chair. The crouching posture required to sit on the thing was laughable, not least because the stranger was astoundingly tall and his bent knees came up almost level with his ears. Mathias estimated standing he would be about 6’2”, by American measurements, and if not for the fact he looked somewhat roughed up he would have been extremely handsome. His most remarkable feature was either his goatee, or his shoulder length hair, both a rather striking dark auburn colour. Mathias had to admit that the fact he was dressed like a destitute pirate, in a loose-fitting white shirt and hide duster, was fairly notable, too.

“Obviously, I don’t.” Mathias relented, after long enough to become uncomfortable in the silence. The strange man seemed surprised to hear his accent.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, eyebrows creeping up his forehead in the most curious kind of way. “An Englishman, huh? Well then. I suppose that’s fair enough.”

Mathias rolled his eyes, and returned his attention to the lightbulb.

“You should probably stop talking when people don’t answer you.” He told the stranger. “The sound of your voice is doing my head in.”

Whoever this person was, he spoke with a cocky, slightly flippant tone that made the hair on Mathias’ arms prickle. It bothered him, a bit, that the people who threw him in here would put him up with someone quite this annoying. Who was this guy anyway? A cop? A vagrant? He was a wee bit scrappy, that’s for sure, but he still looked too clean to be a vagrant.

“Wow. That’s cold. I’m just… y’know. Trying to make a connection here.” The stranger made a gesture with his hands, pointing between the two of them in a way that drew an imaginary line between their chests, “After all, we might be in here together for some time. Either that, or you’re about to be accompanying me off this mortal coil.”

Mathias frowned. Surely this person’s situation wasn’t _that_ dire. Mathias wasn’t concerned for himself - he knew that Tess would be back to get him before anyone came to interrogate him or cut his throat. He had only been picked up by a night watchman, after all, and it was likely that no one in the upper echelons of management even knew he was here. He suspected the same would be true of his company. If Mathias _had_ to guess, he would say that maybe the man had been some unlucky passerby. Perhaps some kind of activist who had been caught handing out pamphlets in the vicinity of the warehouse? He would have been spotted on a monitor by a slightly too alert security guard, or something. Maybe one on his first night on the job.

That had to be it.

“No-one is getting murdered,” Mathias assured the man, folding his arms loosely across his chest. The floor was cold and hard and uncomfortable to sit on, and he was secretly starting to covet the beer crate. “I think that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“Oh?” The stranger looked surprised by this judgement. “You really don’t know where you are, do you?”

“Of course I do,” this was getting tiresome. “I’m in a closet in a half-defunct shipping warehouse, sitting on the floor with a cold ass, and for some God unknown reason, I’m talking to you.” He paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air, undisturbed. And then he asked,

“And on that note, who the _fuck_ are you?”

This made the stranger laugh.

“Jesus. I thought the English were supposed to be polite. I’m Flynn Fairwind. Who the fuck are _you_?”

“James,” Mathias lied to him, without hesitation. “My name is James Bond.”

“Oh! Really? Like the spy? Well, that’s a funny turn of events,” Flynn Fairwind stood up off the beer crate, and wandered closer to where Mathias was sitting against the wall. “because according to this, your name is _actually_ Mathias Shaw. Blood type B positive. Birthdate June 1979. You’re from London, England, and a registered organ donor – good for you.”

Mathias’ eyes widened in shock, his hands flying to his neck where the dog tag with his name and birthdate had been only a few moments before.

“Where did you get that?” He swiped for the necklace, and Fairwind grinned at him, a redhaired devil holding the object just out of reach.

“I got it off you, obviously.” He dropped the tag, and Mathias snatched it from the air with lightning speed. If this took Flynn by surprise, it didn’t show on his face.

“ _How_?!”

The menace wiggled his hands in front of him, in the way a magician might after performing an excellent trick.

“Sticky fingers. It’s a secret. But… if you don’t mind me saying. It seems kind of stupid to wear an ID tag when you’re breaking and entering strange buildings, no?”

Mathias flushed, re-securing the necklace around his neck and dropping the tag inside his shirt, against his chest. He wasn’t going to explain the intricacies of organisational body recovery policy with some transient, even if he also happened to be of the opinion that it was damn stupid. He pressed his hand over the tag, unable to shake the sense of violation. When Flynn made to sit down on the floor next to him, he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and moved away as quickly as he could.

“Keep away from me!”

“Hey. It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry. I just thought it would be a good conversation starter, is all.” One of Fairwind’s knees cracked loudly as he sat down, and from this proximity Mathias could smell him, a lingering scent of sea salt and whiskey. He smelled surprisingly clean, actually, considering the state of his coat. He turned to look at Mathias, and Mathias noticed with a profound sense of discomfort that his eyes were a steely grey-blue. The color of the horizon on a cold dawn.

“I’m not gonna pinch anything else off you. I already tried to get my hands on your wallet.”

“I don’t have a wallet!”

“I know.” He smiled crookedly, and drew his knees up to his chest. “So now the two of us are introduced, let’s be real about it. What are you doing here in a place like this? You some kind of cop?”

“I’m not a cop.”

“A spy?”

“I’m not….” Mathias felt his eye twitch - An unconscious betrayal he detested, even as it happened. This was the second time he had failed to live up to his responsibilities today. “No, I’m not a spy.”

Fairwind laughed, loudly, and gave him an exaggerated wink.

“Right. Okay. You’re not a spy. And I’m not a disgruntled ex-employee about to have my brain splattered on that wall over there.”

He pointed to the wall. It was plain, and grey, and had a single unused coat hook drilled into it.

“What are you even _talking_ about,” Mathias asked. “This is a shipping warehouse. People don’t just murder people for quitting a job at a shipping warehouse.”

This was a lie, actually. Some people did. But Mathias had believed they weren’t really dealing with _those_ people. He and his team had been under the assumption that Ashvane shipping company, Chicago branch, had in fact not even been conscious of the materials they were exporting. Or the implications. He hadn’t come across any evidence yet, in his reconnaissance, to suggest otherwise - especially since a few states over Gallywix Trading Corp was cutting much larger deals at a much greater rate. But if Fairwind was attempting to say that in fact things at the Ashvane company were more dubious than first expected…

Well. That might change things up a little bit. The situation might have become a little more… urgent. Especially if this implication was reflected in the documents, that he and Tess had managed to secure.

The tiny office room they were locked in seemed to shrink by a couple of square meters.

Fairwind shrugged, fiddling idly with a loose thread hanging from the sleeve of his coat. His hand, Mathias noted, trembled a little - it struck him that the man was actually very scared of the predicament he found himself in, beneath all his layers of gusto and chatter. Mathias felt a small twinge of pity for him. If Fairwind was telling the truth, after all, and he was trapped in here awaiting a swift demise, then what kind of a dismal place was this to spend one's last night on earth?

“A regular old shipping warehouse, maybe,” Fairwind told him. “But here they do.”

“This isn’t a regular old shipping warehouse?” Mathias asked.

Fairwind’s mouth twitched, and he shook his head.

“It’s a shipping warehouse, technically. But –“

He was interrupted by a soft thump, from just a few meters outside the door.

Mathias snapped his head around to watch the door handle, and the electronic lock which he had already tried, unsuccessfully, to open from inside. With a soft scratching sound, the handle jiggled, before stilling again. Flynn opened his mouth, as if to ask who it was biding entry. Mathias held a finger up, to silence him before a word could come out of his mouth.

The electronic lock beeped. The door cracked open.

 _Tess_.

She had come back for him, as he knew she would. Her boss probably would have been pretty pissed off if she hadn’t – Jorach and Mathias went way back, and thank goodness they did because how would he have been able to make it here without the help of the Uncrowned? His team didn’t have the resources to be gallivanting around the Great Lakes Region by themselves, and Mathias had been understaffed lately anyway. He was still bitter that his second in command had taken the month off to go to Italy, instead of accompanying him.

Behind Tess, half concealed in shadows, an unconscious security guard was sprawled on the concrete floor.

“Master Shaw,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “Who is this?”

Fairwind was already scrambling to his feet, ready to make a leap for the door. Agent Tess held a hand up to catch him, and Mathias was amused by the way he collided with her like he was colliding with a brick wall.

“This is Flynn Fairwind,” He told her, standing up and shaking the bloodflow back into his legs. “he’s about to have his brains smeared across that wall.”

He pointed to the wall. Tess looked between Mathias and Fairwind in confusion.

“You want me to shoot him?” she asked. “Now? I’m sorry sir, but you know we don’t have much time.”

Mathias shook his head, emphatically.

“Not by us. Apparently, by Ashvane. I’ve been talking to him a little since I’ve been in here and it looks like he might have some information to give us. That makes this is his lucky day.” He clapped a hand down on Fairwind’s shoulder, and the taller man, still reeling from the impact of his body against Tess’, buckled under it.

Tess looked suspicious, but it wasn’t her place to question him.

“Very well then.” She raised a leg, reaching into the pouch she kept on her ankle to produce two transparent cable ties. Standard issue. “I take it they relieved you of your equipment, sir?”

“They did.”

She handed him the ties, and before Fairwind could voice his misgivings Mathias had his wrists twisted behind his back and secured together, tightly. He took extra care to ensure the binding was slightly uncomfortable.

“Hey!”

This time, it was Tess’ turn to shush him.

“You better watch yourself. He will gag you if you give him a reason to do so.” She turned her back, craning her neck as if trying to see around the dark corners of the corridor outside. “not that we have much time. I didn’t see the other guard, but I know he’s around here somewhere...”

Mathias hummed, grabbing Fairwind’s left arm and pushing him roughly through the door. The man stumbled, but righted himself, and to his credit he didn’t say anything aside from uttering a sharp hiss.

“Move quickly,” Mathias told him, voice hushed. “you walk between us and if you even _try_ to bolt, Tess here will gut you. Understand?

Fairwind blanched white, but he nodded.

“I understand, Mister Bond.”

Mathias resisted the urge to gut him himself.

***

“Which one of these is the real one?” Tess asked, looking at the six IDs, two drivers' licenses, and a Canadian passport, spread out like playing cards on the breakfast bar in front of them.

“This one I think.”

Mathias pointed to one of the cards, issued by the state of New York to Flynn Fairwind, born in Poughkeepsie on the 14th of February 1991. Not only did it match the name Fairwind had provided in the holding room at the warehouse, it was the oldest and most tatty looking card on the table. It had all of the security features that some of the obviously cheaper fakes were lacking, besides.

“Fairwind huh. And what’s his racket?”

“Not sure. But he’s got a knack for lifting. Watch your personals and your valuables, and don’t stand too close.”

Mathias looked up from the spread of fake documents, and leaned back a little so he could check that their guest was still safe and secured in the room next door. Mathias had made sure to tie him up as best he knew how, and sure enough not even sticky-fingers-Fairwind was able to get out of the bindings.

“You okay in there?” he called. 

The man looked up at him, blinked for a moment, and rattled his hands against the ribs of the wall mounted radiator he was bound to

“Knots a little loose,” He responded, “But otherwise I’m fine.”

Mathias heard Tess scoff derisively.

“Does he think he’s funny?”

Mathias sighed.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Now they were back in the hotel room that served as a base of operations for their reconnaissance, it was time Mathias and Fairwind had A Talk. Mathias wasn’t sure exactly, what to do with him yet. If he had important information that he could use, then it was absolutely imperative he relinquish it – preferably without finding out why they wanted to know. If he didn’t have any information, and Mathias had in fact just kidnapped a completely innocuous idiot from the Chicago dockside district, then…

Mathias grimaced. As much as he disliked the guy, he didn’t really want to have to kill him. Corpses in the field tended to pile up – once there was one there always seemed to be others - and like the corpses the paperwork involved tended to pile up too. Maybe if there had been a misunderstanding, he could buy the man’s silence. He had noted, as he had gone through his wallet and examined all the IDs inside, he had absolutely no cash or credit cards on his person. Unless he was stashing his them elsewhere, that is.

Mathias wasn’t about to perform a cavity search in a low budget motel motor lodge right now though. He swore after the last time that he would never do that again.

“I don’t suppose you want to talk to him?” he asked Tess. She gave him a look to let him know she had a few choice words to say about that suggestion, but she would probably be better to keep them to herself lest it instigate a rift between their respective organizations.

Mathias sighed.

“Okay fine. You can go get us some coffee or dinner or something, if you don’t mind. They didn’t give me any food in there and I am starving.”

“It’s four AM.”

“Please, Tess. Try.”

Mathias didn’t feel particularly threatened by the man, and he didn’t think he needed her to back him up. His stomach was so empty he thought it may start digesting itself, and between that and the redhead in the motel bedroom Mathias thought the danger from his own guts was higher.

“Fine.”

She picked up the keys to the BMW - the only luxury that the budget for this mission had provided. Their budget of course, was shoestring, and she had jacked it from some a guy in Ohio on her way to pick him up from the Airport two prior. She thought Mathias didn’t know, and he hadn’t bothered to tell her otherwise. Let the woman have her fun.

Once Tess was gone, though, it was back to how it was in the warehouse all over again. Him and Fairwind in a grungy liminal space. Just the two of them. Alone.

Mathias migrated into the bedroom where his captive was still sitting, attached to the heater and looking quite blasé about it, considering.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mathias grunted, taking a seat on the end of the dirty looking bed. “and for the… you know.” He knocked his wrists together, to imply the bindings. Flynn crinkled his nose and pulled his shoulder into a shrug.

“You could do me a favour, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“Depends what it is.”

“Can you scratch my nose? It’s itchy as hell and my hair is getting all up in there as well.”

Mathias answered almost immediately.

“No. I’m not going to be doing that.”

Fairwind whined, and wriggled uncomfortably against the wall. 

“Fucking hell. You’re making me wish I was still at the warehouse. At least there I had the use of my hands.”

“You can have the hands back soon. I just need you to answer me a few questions first. Alright?”

He huffed, which Mathias took to mean that was agreed upon. Mathias let his eyes rake over the man's face, which was flushed and shiny but still just as handsome as it had looked in the warehouse. Sure enough, a strand of loose red hair was straying across his brow and against the tip of his nose. It looked like he might have tried to blow it away at some point, but the end had gotten caught in his silly little moustache.

“First question. What’s your name, your _real_ name, and where are you from.”

“I told you. My name is Flynn. I’m from New York.”

“Where in New York?”

“Syrracruse.”

Mathias raised an eyebrow. Flynn seemed to remember that Mathias and Tess had relieved him of his wallet earlier. He swore under his breath.

“Okay fine. Fine. Poughkeepsie.”

“How do I know that’s your real name? You have more Aliases than Jason Bourne.”

“You’re gonna have to take my word for it, Mathias Shaw.”

Mathias grimaced, hearing his own name said aloud made him profoundly uncomfortable. People didn’t usually do it, either referring to him as Master, or as Shaw. He made a note to message his people back home, and get them to run a rather extensive background check on Fairwind when they got the time. Not because he doubted he really was who he said he was, but more because he wanted the satisfaction of knowing he _could_.

“I suppose I am. Next question then. Why were you locked in a closet in the warehouse owned and operated by the Ashvane trading company during the early hours of a Friday morning?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Flynn smiled, but Mathias could see something that was beginning to look like calculation flashing behind his eyes.

“You could,” Mathias responded. “and I could tell you. Tess and I were caught breaking in. Nothing dubious, I promise.”

“Why were you breaking in?”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be questioning you.”

Mathias was warming up his interrogation techniques. He had never really been great at this kind of blunt questioning, preferring to leave it more often to the detectives, and the police. When it was necessary for him to get information from informants, he usually had lower ranking agents out there on the ground to do most of the legwork, and the methods his _particular_ agency preferred tended to be far more subtle. Infiltration, building rapport, and engaging with informants on a long-term basis, was the typical modus operandi.

Flynn sighed and relented, sagging like a dying plant against the wall.

“Okay fine. I was breaking in too. Like I said, I used to work for Ashvane trading company. I captained a ship making transfers between Michigan and the Canadian border.”

“Transfers?”

“Yeah. Shipping goods, you know? It was good. A steady job doing legitimate work, for once. I used to help run other stuff into New York City before Ashvane took me on. That was a shit job, and a _lot_ riskier let me tell you.”

“Okay,” Mathias frowned, noting that the man seemed to be prone to go on tangents. This could be an asset, or a curse – talkative types tended to either say nothing at all of consequence with far too many words, or divulge more than they should without noticing. He was in luck if Fairwind turned out to be the latter.

He indicated the fellow should carry on. He did.

“Anyway, I was trying to bust into the warehouse because I happen to need a few of the papers they got in there.”

“Papers?”

Mathias felt his brow knit at the mention of papers. The same ones he and Tess had been seeking, perhaps? Flynn nodded.

“Yeah. Just some manifests. Shipping inventories.”

_Bingo._

Sounded like they were after the same thing. Mathias made a note of this, careful to keep his thoughts off his face.

“Why were you looking for the manifests? Shouldn’t you be able to request that information from Customs and Border Protection?”

“Well, normally yes. But in this instance, I decided to cut out the middleman. Occasionally I would have to travel over here to Chicago to pick up extra shipments, see, and I had approximate knowledge of the warehouse and the people who worked there so it should've been easy enough for me to sneak in and grab them. Problem was, they had approximate knowledge of me too - I didn’t get much further than the rear entrance when the guard was tossing me into that crummy back room.” He rattled his hands against the radiator again, emphatically. “At least he didn’t tie me up like a thanksgiving turkey.”

“At least.”

Mathias rubbed his chin, mind clicking and whirling like the cogs in a well-oiled machine. Everything Flynn said raised more questions – the difficult part was choosing which one to ask. He couldn’t let the other man know what parts of his account he was most interested in, and nor could he let him think that the information he was providing was information Mathias couldn’t get anywhere else. Such a delicate balance...

“You were a former Captain for Ashvane company,” he repeated to Flynn, thinking he should make sure his story was straight before he started pressing further. “and at some stage, you stopped working for them, and tonight you were trying to break into the warehouse to get some papers. Am I following?”

His captive nodded.

“Exactly.”

“Alright, I have some more questions,” Mathias told him. “There’s still some parts I don’t understand. What did you do that was so bad that you lost your job, seeing as you claim you liked it so much?”

Flynn looked somewhat uncomfortable, even more than he already did curled up on the floor against a radiator and a wall.

“Ahhh now that? that is a complicated issue. I’m not sure how to explain…”

Mathias had no doubt that it was. He carried on.

“I also want to know why it is, that someone as inconsequential as a former employee would be thrown in a closet for alleged _execution_ , just because he was poking around where his giant freckled nose didn’t belong.”

He lifted his eyes to meet Flynn’s, pinning him in place with his gaze. To a smarter man, this contact was a battle of wills. But Flynn… he was clearly far too nervous. His eyes fluttered and he tried very hard to turn them away.

“Well, the boss and me. Let’s just say we didn’t end things on the best of terms.”

Mathias’s brow furrowed, as he tried to gauge the body language Fairwind displayed. He seemed to be getting more closed off. Perhaps it was better to try another avenue of enquiry, for now.

“Alright. Please yourself. Tell me some more about the Ashvane company then. They operate around the lakes, correct?”

Flynn nodded in agreement, visibly relaxing.

“Yeah, they do. A couple years ago they were trying to move eastwards and get set up in New York. That’s where I was originally working, see, exporting and the like. Then, all of a sudden, something changed, and my first mate rung me up and he said to me ‘Flynn, I’ve got some good news for you! Or bad, maybe, depending on how you look at it….”

Mathias sucked a deep breath through his teeth, held it for a moment, and let it all out again in one go.

“Get to the point!”

“Ahhhhh right. Sorry. Sorry. So like I said, my mate got me transferred. I moved over to Michigan and started doing shipments up north. Same stuff really – iron. A little bit of gravel and rock. It was really boring... ‘Till one day we were in port and I didn’t have any crew on board. I thought I saw an error on the ship manifest, so I had to go down below deck and check things out for myself. Lo and behold, I was in for a shock. The whole fucking boat was crammed full of artillery! And no one told me! Well. I made myself scarce pretty quick after that.”

Mathias stared at him, steady despite the fact that this had confirmed his suspicions, and also possibly blown the severity of the investigation up about three classes.

“You made yourself scarce?”

“I ran away.” The smile Flynn gave him this time was intense, somewhat unnerving. He showed all his teeth and it reminded Mathias more of a grimace, than a true smile. “Luckily for me, it wasn’t long after that a shipment was captured on its way out by the state police. I got out of things before it really spiraled out of control. Ashvane company managed to buy their way out of it, I think, because obviously they are still up and running. But who do you think the head honchos thought might have tipped them off?”

“You.” Mathias answered, and Flynn was nodding before he had even opened his mouth to do so.

“Me. You betcha.”

His tale lapsed, and whether or not he had been completely truthful he had at least divulged a complete story. One Mathias had no reason to disbelieve, yet. It _had_ proved lucky that he had a penchant for talking so much, then.

“Do you believe Ashvane knew they were shipping weapons?” Mathias asked. Flynn nodded.

“Of course! And they only kept records of the actual cargo here, in Chicago. Though I happen to know they are planning to relocate their base operations to Wisconsin in a couple of weeks, closer to the company headquarters. Probably somewhere with much better security, after the police incident. I figured now would be as good a time as any to try and get my hands on the proof.”

“Relocation?”

Mathias hadn’t seen or heard a single whisper about _relocation_. The Uncrowned had been informed that Ashvane had simply reduced operations through the Chicago branch, and this had been the assumption underpinning Mathias’ own investigation. This was the second great revelation of the evening, after the discovery that Ashvane might have been aware of their cargo after all. He knew he needed to take a moment now, to recalibrate his thoughts and touch base with London. The mission was looking like it might take a turn in a rather unexpected direction. But first, he had one more thing to ask.

“One last question, Fairwind.” he said, and the man looked up at him, attentively.

“Aye?”

“Who are you working for?”

Former employees of criminal syndicates didn’t just poke around like this for no reason. Anyone who did would have had to be suicidal. Or just a straight up idiot. Honestly, Flynn Fairwind could have been either, but on this particular point Mathias had a hunch.

“I’m not working for anyone,” The former captain lied. “I’m just an asshole.”

Mathias grunted.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said all night that I believe without hesitation.”

He stood up and turned his back on him. Fairwind’s rather pathetic plea for his hands back went unacknowledged, as Mathias returned to the kitchen and moved towards the landline telephone hanging on the wall. He picked the phone up from the cradle, and keyed a number in on the keypad. After ringing for a few moments, someone on the other end answered.

_Hello?_

“Hello room service?” He asked, the line crackling as he shifted his weight from one hip to the other and jostled the cord. “Could you send a toasted sandwich or something up to room 7B? I’m sorry it’s such a late hour, but I am _starved._ ”


	2. PART ONE: COLLISION ~ CHAPTER TWO: FLYNN

The disgraced former Captain Flynn Fairwind winced, trying to move a numb leg out from underneath him without upsetting the bruises developing on his wrists. This feat would have been significantly less difficult were he not currently attached to an ancient radiant heater on a mildew covered wall, but that was just how life could be sometimes. If he didn’t ride the waves, then Flynn knew he would drown.

Mathias Shaw had not used cable ties to secure him – he had opted for the cord that had been tying back the curtains at the window instead. His knot tying abilities, in Flynn’s humble opinion, were not as good as he thought they were, and Flynn wouldn’t have been much of a sailor if he didn’t know exactly where the fellow had gone wrong. He had considered, for a little while, that he might loose himself and leave the hotel while Shaw was busy with room service phone calls, but just like he had hesitated to scarper the moment Shaw and his companion threw him in their car, he hesitated now. On the one hand, he didn’t really want to spend the next twelve hours in someone else’s bondage fantasy, waiting for Taelia to realise he hadn’t met her and start to wonder if all was still well. On the other, he didn’t want to leave the place without his ID cards, and the mysterious Shaw had the air of a person who had information that Flynn (and Taelia) might want to know. He would be making a real dogs breakfast of things if he jeopardized progress now, and he wasn’t sure he could do that to Tae after all the effort she had gone through to ensure he had woken up that morning, every morning, in a single piece.

No, he decided, after deliberating for a bit, twisting his hands and fingers in the way he knew he _could_ use to slip the knots, should he desire. Flynn was going to stay right here until he knew what Shaw and the woman, Tess, wanted to do with him. And also maybe what it was _they_ had wanted in the bowels of the Ashvane warehouse.

Taelia hadn’t mentioned anyone else was likely to be on this case. The possibility that there might be growing interest in the activities of Ashvane Trading made Flynn feel distinctly uneasy, and he realised that in addition to gleaning new information from his captor it would probably also be important for him to figure out what Shaw and his little friend _didn’t_ know. Obviously, he didn’t know enough to know Flynn, and that was probably a good thing.

Wasn’t it?

With his head against the wall, Flynn could hear the deep operations of the hotel going on, as if it gave no fucks that a man was currently being held captive on the seventh floor. The pipes were shifting, the air conditioning was whirling. He thought he could hear the steady thump of fucking a few rooms down. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to hear what Tess and Shaw were discussing next door. The vibrations didn’t carry through the wall like that, and no matter how hard he strained his ears he had no luck at all. He huffed, letting his head fall back to rest on the radiator, which rattled hollowly at the contact.

“Oh radiator,” he spoke aloud, his voice echoing in the empty room. “You’re my only friend in the world.”

Just as Flynn though he was _really_ about to go off the deep end, and start having profound and meaningful conversations with inanimate objects (again), he heard the scrape of a chair against a linoleum floor. Footsteps. A shadow moving over the opening of the bedroom door.

“How are you faring, Fairwind?”

“Oh, you know.” He sat up a little, alert and ready to perform. “I have been worse.”

Shaw nodded, stepping into the room with Tess flanking him, but still standing a little behind. Whatever dynamic they had, it seemed like a professional one, and she seemed attentive to his every whim and word. Flynn had not failed to notice how often Tess had called him ‘Master’ or 'Sir’.

Shaw sat back down on the end of the bed opposite him, and summoning all his resolve Flynn met his eyes. He had never been much of a fan of eye contact – when he was younger, he had hated the feeling that by meeting his gaze, a person might manage to read whatever thoughts happened to be on his mind. When he was a teenager, this was the _worst possible thing_ that could have happened to him, considering the machinations that had been going on there. It wasn’t such an issue now, but old habits did die hard. Flynn knew he needed to keep control of himself, though, and not let Shaw know how he was feeling. He knew he had only done a so-so job of this, thus far.

The other man's eyes were an uncommon and vivid forest green.

“You’re not hungry?” He asked Flynn, expression neutral. “Thirsty? Do you need the bathroom?”

“Yes, yes, and no.”

Flynn paused for a moment, thinking about that last question a little longer. When was the last time he took a piss?  
  
“Actually, yes,” He changed his mind. “Make that a hattrick.”

Shaw nodded a little, unsmiling, and his eyes shifted to the curtain cord tied around Flynn’s wrists.

“If I take that off you, do you swear you won’t run away?”

“On my honor as a sailor I swear.”

Shaw narrowed his eyes.

“Good. Tess knows what to do if you try it.”

“Not keen to get your hands dirty, sir?”

Flynn peered past the older man, and looked to Tess, hoping to see he had gotten her to laugh or at least crack a smile. She refused to even look at him, and her expression was as colder and harder than the hotel floor.

Ah. A Critical failure on the old ‘charm his way out of it using his reckless sexual energy’ strategy, then.

Shaw didn’t respond either. He leaned in close to undo Flynn’s bindings. In close proximity, he seemed much smaller than when he was towering pin-straight over him. He smelled faintly of aftershave and woodsmoke, and seemed to radiate heat, as some bodies were apt to do. The release of the ties on Flynn’s wrists was better than sex. He sighed in relief, dropping his shoulders and pulling his hands back to his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” He murmured. “You sure know how to satisfy a man, Mathias Shaw.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Shaw stood upright again, the faintest colour rising in his cheeks, and Flynn laughed openly. If they weren’t going to be amused by his jokes, then he would have to do so himself. As he was preparing to haul himself up off the floor, Shaw surprised him, thrusting a hand down at him in an offer to help him stand up. Flynn was taken aback, but took the hand nonetheless.

“Well thank you. Are we friends again now that’s over?”

“We aren’t friends.” The strange, narrow Englishman informed him. “But if you behave, I won’t need to tie you up again.”

That was something, at least. He continued.

“Come through, and use the bathroom, and get something to eat. We have a proposition you might like to hear.”

***

Shaw was right. This proposition _was_ something he wanted to hear.

Flynn sat in silence at the kitchen table in the dingy motel room, his eyes starting to ache as the sun began to rise outside. It was most unusual, to see the sunrise that morning, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit romantic about it all. That was to be expected, right, when confronting the morning after a night he hadn’t thought he’d survive? Opposite him, Shaw and Tess were sitting and watching him closely. Tess wore an expression even more inscrutable than her partners, and Flynn thought that her face, which he hadn’t actually seen yet in full light, was unexpectedly pretty. She reminded him a little bit of Tae. He was now _particularly_ glum his seduction technique had not been effective on her. Shaw’s face, as ever, was dour, but so far as dour middle-aged men go, there was a touch of the profoundly dashing about him also. Flynn surprised himself with how much he was drawn to him, and he respected the full-bodied quality of his moustache. Perhaps he might be susceptible to seduction instead?

Sadly, Flynn doubted it.

Overall, though, the pair seemed quite put together even after an all-nighter. He knew he probably looked like dogshit by comparison.

“What do you think?” Shaw asked, not really curious what he thought so much as he was pressuring Flynn for an answer. “Yes or no?”

“I mean. I’m not _opposed_ to the idea.”

Between them, on the table, an open laptop. It was thicker than an average laptop, completely matte black, and lacked and kind of recognizable branding. Flynn had seen laptops like this before, they were common among drug cartels and high-ranking detective agents. He wasn’t entirely clear yet, which one of those these two might be, but Shaw didn’t quite seem like the cartel type.

Shaw closed his eyes, as though Flynn was trying his patience. Sighing, Tess leaned forward against the table and pulled a short knife out from inside her clothing. She began picking under her nails with it. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier. Flynn swallowed.

_Fucking hell…_

He understood that he didn’t have a choice.

“If I help you, then afterwards, will you let me off scott-free?”

“Scott-free?” Shaw repeated, opening his eyes again and peering at him intensely. “It’s going to cost _us_ four thousand USD. But as I said, we can give that to you. In exchange for your cooperation. And your silence.”

The emphasis of the sentence was on ‘silence’. Flynn inhaled deeply, fully aware they were low-balling him on the bribe, and nodded his consent.

“Okay. Okay fine. I will humor you. You guys promise you’re gonna have my back right? If someone tries to come out of nowhere and cut my throat, you’ll give them a rigorous stabbing?”

The corners of Shaw’s lips curled wryly.

“We’ll see.”

That wasn’t very reassuring.

Shaw sat back, pulling a stack of ID cards and a passport out of his pocket and placing them down on the table in front of him.

“I’m going to give you these back,” He said, “But you should know that if you go missing, or if I do for that matter, Tess has all of the names, dates and information contained on them, as well as access to extensive background checks on every one of the aliases you have ever had.”

Flynn didn’t doubt it. He nodded, and waited for Shaw to remove his hands from the stack before reaching out between them to take it back. Beside him, Tess shifted a little, tossing the knife she was holding into the air and catching it with her other hand. She returned to her own private business, addressing the flakes of dirt under her left thumb. Flynn pulled his hands and his IDs back towards him, and scooped them into the picket of his coat.

“Can I have my wallet back as well?” he asked.

“Fell apart when we opened it,” Shaw told him, as if that was an acceptable reply.

…

Before Flynn was even able to get a wink of sleep, he was being bundled into the back of the same BMW they had arrived at the motel in during the early hours, with Tess behind the wheel and Shaw sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the leather upholstered back. The early morning traffic in the city was booming, and Flynn expected their trip to be interrupted by long waits and red lights all the way, but Tess seemed to know the backstreets even better than Flynn did. They flew beneath the highways and the main roads towards the edges of the Chicago central city at a fine pace. It would have been remarkable, and he would have taken notes, if only he had the security of knowing where they were going when they got out of there.

“At any stage are you planning to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“Wisconsin.”

“Well, alrighty then.”

Flynn sat back against the seat, and shut up. He watched the scenery flying past the window. After a while, the skyline and the buildings all began to smear together, an infinite sweep of lights and concrete and grey. Under him, the BMW moved like a whisper. Shaw’s shoulder pressed against his was warm, and Flynn noticed that he could feel the other man breathing ever so softly. He wasn’t sure why he had sat so close to him, since they had the whole back half of a spacious luxury car. But. He didn’t hate it. In fact, he found it strangely humanizing. It occurred to him that if Shaw and Tess had wanted to, they could have killed him by now and disappeared into the anonymity of the city with no repercussions – nobody would have missed him besides Taelia. Nobody would have even noticed he was gone. Trying not to think too hard about how sobering a realization this was, he came to the conclusion that this meant they must not want to kill him.

Pressed shoulder to shoulder with Shaw, it was hard for him to imagine this warm body, another human person with thoughts and feelings and pulse, being capable of unmotivated murder. He wondered if this what Stockholm syndrome felt like.

This was his last thought, as the exhaustion of the last twelve hours began to creep up on him. His upper body slumped sideways, head coming to rest on Shaw’s shoulder where it remained. Shaw didn’t move him. He remained there, undisturbed, but Flynn was already unconscious and sleeping deeply.

He didn’t notice. 

…

Shaw woke him with a shake, and the touch startled him so much that he jerked a little _too_ upright, and ended up hitting his head hard against the inside of the window.

“ _Ow_!”

Shaw clicked his tongue, wordlessly judgmental, reaching past him to undo the lock on the door. Flynn rubbed his head gingerly, and scowled.

“Why did you wake me,” He complained. “I was having a wonderful dream I wasn’t here.”

“Get up,” Shaw ordered, not acknowledging or appreciating his joke at all. “Get out of the car.”

If Flynn had been pressed to guess where they might have been going when they had manhandled him into the vehicle, he probably would have guessed somewhere like an airport. Maybe another hotel.

He wasn’t expecting to climb of the BMW in the middle of an ordinary suburb. The kind that had houses. Front lawns. Playgrounds. They were a long way from central Chicago, that was for sure.

“…” he looked around in confusion. “Where are we?”

“That’s confidential,” Tess spoke to him directly. She had rounded the back of the car, her large aviator sunglasses and black leather jacket making her look exactly like the sort of person who might drive a black BMW, and her footsteps were completely silent – something Flynn found to be exceptionally unnerving. “From here though, You and Master Shaw are on your own. He knows how to contact me if he needs to.” She popped open the boot of the car, and pulled a large duffel bag out from inside it. The bag was tatty and bright yellow, and was branded for the launch of Austin Powers: Goldmember, for some reason.

“Excuse the bag,” She told him, holding it out as if he was supposed to take it. “We only have one standard issue. That one goes to the professional.”

Shaw moved behind her, leaned into the boot, and pulled out a second duffel. This one was plain black and much nicer.

Flynn forced himself to smile.

“Right. That makes sense. But uh... I thought we were going to Wisconsin?” he asked, “Which I assume is because that’s where Ashvane headquarters has relocated.”

“We are,” Shaw told him, with a tone as close to bright as Flynn thought he was likely capable of, though it really just came across more brisk than anything. “We need to get there first.”

Need to get there?

Flynn looked around in abject confusion. There was a football pitch down the far end of the road they were on, in an open public park with a chicken wire fence and a few swing sets on the side. Down the other way, it was just houses. Houses as far as the eye could see.

“How?”

Shaw dug his hand into his duffel, and steeped forward. Tess shut the boot of the BMW and walked back around, to the driver's door.

“We have a pickup here,” Shaw said, extracting a key from a side pocket of the bag. “Tess needs to take the BMW back to where she got it from. So we are driving across state alone.”

“Are you serious?”

Flynn wouldn’t have agreed to this if he’d known that! a drive all the way to Wisconsin would take _hours._ Surely these people would be able to organize a plane or something?

“I’m serious. _Tess_!” He called to the woman, just as she was about to climb back in the car, and she turned around to look back at him in confusion.

“What is it, sir?”

“I need your tracer, if you please.”

What the fuck was a tracer?

“Oh.”

Tess closed the car door again and walked back to join them. She thrust out her wrist which was elegant, but strapped with muscle. She looked like she could crush Flynn’s balls to pulp with two fingers. Flynn watched as Shaw wrapped his fingers around her wrist and over her watch, which looked like some kind of off brand smartwatch. Shaw’s thumb pressed hard down on the shiny black face of it, and Flynn’s eyebrows flew up almost to his hairline when the watch lit up and chimed.

Tess nodded and withdrew her wrist, unstrapping the watch and thrusting it out to Flynn like she had offered him the duffel. He took it off her.

“Put it on,” She instructed, and that was the last thing she said to him. She turned around and climbed back in the car. Flynn looked to Shaw in confusion, and Shaw made a gesture that indicated he should, in fact do what she had told him.

“What is it?” he asked, not entirely confident he was ready to trust him like that.

“It’s a GPS tracer.” Shaw told him. “It tracks your blood pressure, pulse and geographical location. And if you go outside of a two-kilometer radius of me, I will know about it.” He raised his left hand, and Flynn spotted a similar device strapped to his own wrist.

“Two kilometers?”

“One mile. Give or take.”

Flynn didn’t like the sound of this.

“I don’t like the sound of this,” He said.

“Too bad.”

Shaw set his bag down on the pavement, and the BMW engine ignited. Tess failed to indicate as she pulled away from the pavement, leaving the two of them alone, and Flynn would have put money on the fact that she didn’t once look back at them, not even in the rearview. Not knowing where he was, and having only the vaguest idea of why they were so hell-bent on keeping him…

Flynn was scared.

“Believe me,” Shaw told him, swiping the watch out of his palm with his left hand and seizing Flynn’s left wrist with his right, “This is as much for your safety as its for my convenience.”

“ _My_ safety?”

The fucking weirdo. Flynn tried to pull his hand back, but Shaw was surprisingly strong and held his arm in a vice like grip. He secured the watch with speed and precision, before Flynn could squirm out of his grasp, and in a split second he was a prisoner again. A prisoner, after all, is a prisoner, even with a cell that’s two kilometers wide.

As soon as he released him, Flynn tried to take it back off, but he had a sinking feeling that that wasn’t going to happen.

“This isn’t coming off until you want it to, is it?”

“No.” Shaw picked up his duffel bag, and shouldered it comfortably. “And it can’t be cut off either. It’s resistant to pressure, humidity, impact from six thousand feet, works in zero gravity, it’s waterproof, _fireproof_ , and,” he paused for a moment, looking Flynn dead on in the eyes. “it’s solar powered.”

“Solar powered,” Flynn repeated. Of course it was.

He sagged at his shoulders, defeated.

“Does it tell the time?” he asked, prodding at the screen with his index finger. The screen lit up, not the same green it had been when Shaw had touched it, but blue. It told him his heartrate was 68 beats per minute and his blood pressure was 128 over 90. Slightly high. Probably fair given the circumstances.

“It does not.”

Shaw was already walking now, heading towards the field at the end of the street. There was a pair of women pushing strollers heading towards them, and Flynn couldn’t help but be self-conscious considering he had just spent a sleepless night locked up and tied up and before any of that, drinking a bottle of cheap wine to build up some courage. He thought the women could probably see that, or smell it on him – he hurried to keep up with his captor. Or his companion? His Captanion?

That was stupid. This whole situation was stupid.

“Well, what is the time, then,” he asked, not really expecting Shaw would oblige him but wanting to try regardless, “and where are we? Can I at least call my friend? She was expecting to hear from me today, but clearly she hasn’t and I expect she will be a bit worried by now.”

Shaw pulled a face, and shook his head.

“Sorry Fairwind. We can’t have you contacting anyone ‘til we are wrapped up in Wisconsin. But I can tell you it’s about 10am on Friday and we are in a suburb not too far from the westernmost edge of the central city. We are going to pick up a car from here, and I’m going to drive up to our destination. Hopefully when we get there, Tess will have called my people in London, and they will have called ahead to arrange a hotel. She wasn’t supposed to be on this project for longer than twenty-four hours, and I would have left by now if you and I hadn’t crossed paths. I want to make this as painless as possible because the longer this takes to get done the more paperwork I need to do when I get back.”

“Oh, well in that case I suppose that confluence was unfortunate for both of us!” Flynn drew up beside him, and flung his arm out to loop around the other man’s shoulders. It seemed like a reasonable thing to do… being gregarious was the best coping strategy. His only one really. Aside from drinking.

Shaw obviously didn’t like it. He scowled.

“We saved your life,” he reminded him coolly. “And don’t fucking touch me, or I will relieve you of your kidney.”

“Yikes. Okay then, sorry.”

He retracted his arm, and the face of his watch flashed in the sunlight. It looked strange on his grubby freckled wrist. Much too high tech and expensive for someone who only owned two pairs of socks. They weren’t even nice ones.

“This thing is fancy,” He said aloud.

“Not really,” Shaw told him, “It’s pretty basic.”

“It reads your fingerprints.”

“Yes, but so does an iphone.”

Flynn still used a repurposed burner. The kind bought from a supermarket for twenty-five dollars.

“I would have thought the FBI would have cutting edge technology,” he said lightly, glancing sideways to gauge how Shaw replied.

“FBI?” One of his eyebrows arched, and for a moment Flynn actually thought he had taken the bait. Unfortunately, Mathias Shaw wasn’t an idiot. “How subtle. I’m not telling you who I work for, so you needn’t try it.”

Flynn sighed.

“How come you get to ask me all these questions, but I don’t get to ask you any? Seems a wee bit unfair, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“So why don’t we even the playing field a bit.” They were approaching the soccer pitch at the end of the street now – close enough to see that at the other side, there was a carpark, and Flynn had a thought that probably this was where their car would be waiting for them.

“Even the playing field how?”

Flynn had been expecting him to straight up say no, but he was pleasantly surprised. He made his request.

“Just tell me. Are you in the FBI, or not?”

Shaw sighed.

“If I tell you do you swear to shut up about it?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not in the FBI.”

“Aha!” Flynn was unreasonably excited. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but gleaning information from this man was like cracking open an oyster at the all you can eat buffet and finding a pearl. “You must be the CIA then! Or… what’s the CIA called in England? You work for them?”

This actually made him look offended.

“Those clowns? God no.”

“Ok. Do you work for the Military at all?”

Shaw scoffed.

“I thought you just promised you would leave it.”

“I changed my mind.”

They stepped off the footpath and onto the road, heading for the gap in the fence that separated the field from the suburb around it. In the distance, Flynn could hear a child laughing, perhaps in one of the houses. It was such a normal sound, and one, Flynn realized, he hadn’t heard for a long time.

Shaw sighed.

“I used to work for _a_ Military,” He said. “But not yours.”

“Used to? Why did you stop? You’re not here on Military business now?”

“All of those are good questions, and the answers are none of your business. Why don’t you shut your mouth now?”

There was a flash of annoyance in his tone - the first time Flynn had seen him display anything other than control

Maybe it would be best if he dropped the topic.

He followed Mathias Shaw in silence as they reached the field, and began to pick across it at a decent pace. On the other side, Flynn could see the carpark drawing closer, and in the carpark a handful of non-descript cars. He would bet his life that one of them was their chariot, waiting to take them on their interstate journey.

When Shaw pulled ahead of him to approach a non-descript Honda parked at the edge of the carpark, Flynn thought that at least he was right about this.


	3. PART ONE: COLLISION ~ CHAPTER THREE: MATHIAS

It took more than seven hours to arrive at their destination - a small town in the north of Wisconsin, on the very edge of Lake Superior. By the time they got out of the car, though, Mathias hadn’t slept for more than twenty-four. Someone who knew nothing about his work might guess that coping with limited sleep was something he had been trained in. The fact of the matter, however, was that functioning in a state of exhaustion was just something Mathias innately knew how to do. This had always been to the chagrin of his peers in the field.

Mathias had struggled with sleeping since he was in his teens, and as he sat in the front seat of an unregistered 1984 Honda Accord with his head in his hands, this seemed like a fucked-up thing for his colleagues to envy. What was the point of all this extra time conscious, if he just spent half his waking hours short tempered and hardly able to focus his eyes in the daylight? He forced himself not to let his weariness get the better of him, as he wrapped his head around what he had just heard.

“You mean to tell me you couldn’t find a single empty room for the weekend in this whole town.”

“Whole town?” what ‘whole town’? that place is barely a dot on a map! Also yeah. All booked out. Either something is going on out there, or you are just shit outta luck. Sorry.”

Renzik’s voice crackled over the cheap speaker of Mathias’ cellphone, and he sounded only half-sorry about the whole thing, at best.

“Who was the one looking for bookings? Was it you? Are you _confident_ there’s nowhere you could find?”

Renzik scoffed, and from the corner of his eye Mathias could see Flynn, still sitting shotgun with his seatbelt unbuckled, pull a face he couldn’t quite pin down.

“I’m in Rome, Shaw. Public wifi and all. It was some droog who took care of it. Or tried to. I’ll vouch for him, though, I did try have a look at my end too. I felt a bit sorry for you, what with being saddled with all this overtime and all.”

Overtime that seemed like it was going to be spent sleeping in the back of a car.

Mathias groaned and slumped lower in the car seat, his elbows against the steering wheel, dangerously close to the horn. There was a pressure beginning to build behind his eyeballs, a dull throb that promised to become a splitting headache. He was tempted to tell Renzik and his ‘droog’ that they had fucked up bigtime, and he would be making this their problem when he got back, but he knew even as he thought it that this response was irrational and that it wasn’t their fault at all. If he had known they would be heading out this way when he had first planned this trip, they would have factored it in ahead, but he supposed that was just one of the risks of playing by air. Or rather, playing by the red-headed lead that had ricocheted into his life, with all the drama of a family of moose stumbling across a highway.

Clearly, Renzik was concerned by his extended silence. He cleared his throat on the other end of the line, as if to remind everyone present that he was still there waiting for a resolution so he could go see the Pope. Or whatever else he had hoped to be doing right now.

“You ok Boss? You’ve gone a little quiet over there.”

“Yes, Renzik. I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

A pause. And then.

“Any idea what you wanna do?”

“No, Renzik. Not a clue. But thanks anyway.”

He reached for his phone and hung up on him.

That was a bit unprofessional, and even Fairwind could tell. He was staring at Mathias from the other side of the vehicle, looking a little worse for wear after the car ride but at least he had gotten to sleep most of the way. Mathias had had to endure his weird little noises for hours and hours, the loud rough drone when his head fell back against the headrest, and the soft, slow breathing when he rested curled against the door. He wasn’t entirely sure which one he found worse.

“Bit rude,” Fairwind said, his voice rough and still a little sleepy. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair had for the most part slipped free of the ponytail he had worn the night before. If he tried very hard, Mathias could almost smell him, a faint oaky scent that might have been his sweat or might just have been cologne on his clothes. It was... unpleasantly alluring.

Mathias stared at him for a moment in distaste.

“You look terrible,” He settled on finally. “When was the last time you had a shower?”

Flynn feigned offence, in a way that told Mathias very clearly that A: he was actually very conscious of how he looked, and B: he thought Mathias had no right to criticize.

“You just kidnapped me and drove me to a completely different part of the country. Sorry I didn’t gussy up for the experience.”

“I didn’t kidnap you.” Mathias informed him.

“Oh really? Then what _did_ you do?”

He didn’t want to admit that he had, in fact, taken a strange man across straight lines under threat of deboweling if he declined.

Mathias sighed.

“You’ve been here before,” He asked, changing the subject. “Do _you_ know anywhere we could stay for the night?”

Flynn shrugged non-committally.

“I’ve only been here once or twice. Usually I’d stay with people I worked with and I don’t think they’d be keen to put me up this time.”

Mathias had suspected as much. He worried the inside of his cheek, and turned his eyes to gaze out of the windshield of the car. The sun was setting over the carpark behind the IHOP. The concrete wasteland of the intersection they were parked by was deserted. How could a place this quiet be so thoroughly booked out? At least the weather for the weekend looked like it would be nice.

“I need sleep,” He told Flynn, “I am a little worried if I sleep, you will take it upon yourself to depart, though.”

“Had you hoped to find another hotel you could tie me up in?” Flynn raised his wrists, baring the bruises there from where he had secured him last time. His movement sent a wave of scent rolling across the cabin, and Mathias coughed softly. That was _definitely_ his sweat. It was decidedly less copacetic in higher concentration.

“I didn’t say that,” he insisted, even though that had been his intention. It was quite simply more reassuring, to know that Fairwind wouldn’t be able to go anywhere overnight.

“Jesus Christ, mate,” Flynn looked exasperated at the idea. “you could at least wine and dine me first this time.”

Mathias felt himself flush at the implication. He’d be a liar if he had to say that he hadn’t thought about the eroticism of it all, when he had trussed him up the night before. Tying people up wasn’t normally a part of his job description - usually the purpose of civilian intelligence operations was to investigate without putting actual human persons at risk of harm - but sometimes in the line of duty one does what they must do. It wasn’t like there was a line in his contract about not enjoying it, and besides. He had already compartmentalized the whole ordeal. It was sitting on the shelf in his mind, next to the box labeled ‘handsome dirty man with long hair smells attractive’.

“It’s just part of the job,” He said. “And yes offence, but I don’t trust you.”

Flynn made a gesture like his mind was exploding out of his skull.

“What’s not to trust?!” he asked, “You got my name and my details and this _thing_ on my wrist. And if I kill you, I’m going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere with my balls in my mouth. Probably with my fingerprints sanded off too, if Tess decides she wants to be careful about it.”

Mathias sighed.

“Okay fine. Do you know anywhere other than IHOP where we can park up for the night? Somewhere we can sleep where we aren’t about to get towed.”

This time, Flynn’s expression almost suggested he might be able to help with that problem.

“I know exactly where we can go.”

…

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Mathias Shaw stood in front of the cabin, which he would have described as being more of a shack, with his hands on his hips and an expression of disappointment warping his features. Flynn seemed a little more optimistic, bounding out of the car and straight up to the door of the place. He hardly even noticed that the rotten wooden steps leading up to the doorway creaked ominously under his feet. 

“It’s just like I remember,” Flynn told him. “I used to drive past here all the time, but I never got the chance to go inside.”

“Why would you want to?”

The cabin was visible from the road further west, crowded by trees and near enough to the lake that Mathias could smell the water even if he couldn’t see it. If he had to guess, he would have said it was an old logging cabin, only just big enough for one or two, although it looked as though it hadn’t been inhabited for decades. The smashed-out windows watched them mournfully, the rotted black wood of the railing sagged under the weight of his gaze. Clustered around the stoop, amongst leaf litter and mush, there was a pile of old glass jars and bottles, and a litter of soggy grey cigarette butts.

“I dunno. It has a certain mystique about it don’t you think?”

Flynn shot him a rakish grin across his shoulder, lifting his hand to knock on the rickety cabin door. Naturally, there was no answer to his knocking, and he pulled an exaggerated face that perhaps, if Mathias hadn’t been feeling so fucking miserable, might have actually deserved a pity smile. The varlet was trying _very_ hard to enthuse him for this, perhaps overcompensating for his uselessness so far, and deep down under layers of exhaustion Mathias found his moronic optimism almost charming. He would never admit it, though.

“I think it looks like we can’t sleep in that. Let’s just park here and sleep in the car, which was the original plan.”

“Tch. Come on mate, what are you afraid of? Scared the big bad house is going to collapse around you while you’re sleeping?”

“Actually, Yes.”

Flynn heaved a mighty sigh, and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. But I still want to look inside.”

He turned his back to Mathias, lifted his left leg, and then in a startling display of strength and muscle control he aimed a kick squarely on the lock of the door. Either because the wood was weak, or because Flynn had powerful thighs, the jamb more or less exploded under his heel. The door swung wide open, like a gaping maw, and it reminded Mathias of staring into an open wardrobe at night.

“Oh fuck no…” Mathias rubbed his hand wearily against his forehead. “I’m not going in there. I’ll be in the car trying to sleep while you have fun doing destruction of property.”

He made to climb back into the vehicle, intending to poke around and see if he could find something that would recline the driver’s seat and maybe make the whole arrangement a little more comfortable, but was stopped when Flynn called out to him in protest.

“Hey! Not a chance! You need to come and check this place out with me. Its dark and creepy in there. What if a ceiling beam falls on my head or something?”

“Then it’d be your own damn fault.”

Flynn gave him a long, pleading look. The kind that reminded Mathias far too much of a puppy begging for a morsel of food scraps. Mathias did like puppies, but he did not like Flynn, and so this roused a rather complicated bout of emotional tug-o-war inside his head. Tragically, the puppy eyes won out.

“You’re a coward,” Mathias snapped at him, mounting the steps of the cabin and giving him a light shove through the doorway. “You call yourself a seaman but you’re nothing but a criminal, and if you joined the navy, you’d be eaten alive.”

“Ow. My feelings.”

He sounded less hurt by that than he should have been.

Inside, the cabin was basically as expected. It was dark, damp, and musty, with a moldy couch in one corner and a flooded fireplace in the other. The floorboards complained under their weight, and it was significantly cooler inside the place than it was outside. Mathias could taste the decay on the air.

“This is disgusting,” he said “why hasn’t it been knocked over yet?”

“I dunno mate. Small towns I guess?”

Flynn edged carefully toward the fireplace, his boots making gross sticky sound against the wet wood, and his outline was hulking in the shadows. Mathias noticed for the first time how broad he was, how nicely shaped his silhouette looked, and he tried to un-notice this as soon as possible. He turned his attention to the ceiling, which was low and dripping with condensation, instead. Time had weathered holes into the corrugated iron, and sequins of late afternoon daylight peeked through. He didn’t see any cobwebs anywhere, but what spider would want to live in this hovel? He didn’t think too much of it.

While Flynn poked around in the fireplace, Mathias shuffled towards the only other feature of the space – the sofa. His tired eyes struggled to make out the pattern on the mangey upholstery, but it was a task made extra difficult by the grime and gloom. Judging by the large patch of singed fabric stretched over one of the arms, someone had tried to set it on fire at some point in its history. Mathias’ skin crawled at the thought of how filthy it must be, and he thought to himself that he would rather spend the next century driving the interstate with Fairwind than touch the thing.

Of course, Mathias was so busy inspecting the sofa that he didn’t even notice the hatch until he tripped over it. The edge where it warped above the level of the floorboards caught the toe of his shoe - in the darkness, he hadn’t spotted the outline on the floor. With a loud shout, Mathias was falling, his knees giving way beneath his weight, and even though the instinct to drive his hands out and catch himself yielded to his tumble training, the sofa was well and truly too in the way for him to evade it.

He landed on the thing face first, and it was moist and smelly and squelched under his weight.

“Holy _fuck,_ ” Flynn, the menace, was _laughing._ “You alright? Gotta watch your footing in these old places. Things tend to just give way under you if you aren’t careful.”

That was awfully ironic advice, coming from someone who swaggered like a bigfoot with collapsed arches. Mathias scrambled back upright, barely even registering that Flynn was helping him, cussing under his breath and wanting nothing more than to crawl back into the secure, stable box that was the Honda.

“I tripped,” He spat, “There’s a latch on the floor here.”

“Oh yeah.” Flynn’s surprise was visible on his face even in the low light. “Lots of these old places had cellars and stuff. For storing bourbon or whatever. Want to have a look?”

He released Mathias’s arm, and bent down to brush away the dirt and leaf litter covering the latch.

“Fuck no!” Mathias brushed down his clothes as best he could, and stalked back towards the cabin door. he had no intention to linger in this place for even another _second._ “Hurry up. We are going somewhere else. I hate this place.”

Flynn sighed heavily, but did not argue. He followed Mathias out of the cabin and back down the steps, to the car. Mathias’s ears were hot with anger, his face flushed in embarrassment. When he reached the vehicle, he had to pause for a moment, and count to ten, and remind himself that things weren’t really as bad as he thought they were. He was just tired, and his company was infuriating, and he really had thought he would be home by now.

“Flynn.” It took all of his self-control to address him steadily. “I think this place was a bust. Do you know anywhere _else_ we can park up for the night? A supermarket maybe? An overnight parking building?”

Flynn’s brows furrowed, as he rounded the other side of the car.

“I mean, maybe? I definitely know where there’s a supermarket…”

“Great.” Mathias was already jerking open the driver’s door. “Let’s go there then. We can get dinner, a bottle of water, and I can _rest_.”

..

They were en route to Flynn’s supermarket carpark when the man of the hour threw his hand out in front of Mathias’s face, and told him he should stop the car. He was lucky Mathias was still sharp enough to not do so immediately, lest the two of them end up hurtling into a ditch at 30 miles per hour. Mathias managed to straighten the wheel in time to see what Flynn was so excited about, and he was so relieved when he saw it that he forgot to chew him out for being an idiot.

A sign for bed and breakfast. On the corner of a quiet backstreet on the edge of town. The road they were on was the kind that was out of the way and lined with oak trees – it was a route someone would only take if they knew the way, and Mathias supposed if they continued they might end up at some store near a hiking trail or a lifestyle farm. He knew from the moment he saw the sign, however, with the little placard beneath it that said ‘vacancy’, that tonight he had no intention of driving farther.

“Why don’t we try that place,” Flynn told him, as if he hadn’t noticed they had almost just died. “Probably a damn sight better than the place I’m thinking of.”

“I think that’s the first good idea you’ve had since we met.”

Mathias pulled the car to a stop, and reversed it, so he could catch the directions and distance provided on the sign.

_The Gilded Rose Bed and Breakfast, 200m ahead, turn right down Lakemine road._

“Lakemine,” Mathias mused. “an unusual name.”

“Not really. There’s a lot of old tin mines around. This whole region used to be a mining town.” Flynn seemed excited at the prospect of having somewhere comfortable to spend the night. Almost as much as Mathias was.

“Really?”

“Yeah. The whole forest out here is riddled with mines.” He waved his hand around, gesturing to well… everything really, in the area. Flynn was rather found of talking with his hands. “I hope the place really does have a vacancy. Maybe I shouldn’t say that in case I jinx it.”

“It’s fine,” Mathias said, putting the car back into drive and setting off down the road to find the Bed and Breakfast. “if they weren’t vacant then they would have changed the sign.”

He said it to reassure his companion, and to reassure himself as well. His old bones were already starting to ache with desire for a mattress.

“Yeah, I guess. But hey. Just so you know? I shotgun first shower when we arrive.”

…

The bed and breakfast was indeed where they the sign sent them, but of course because they hadn’t booked no one was ready to greet them when they arrived. It was a little bit touch and go, where they should report to, but this wasn’t too much of a problem in the end. Mathias simply strode up the driveway wearing a very intent expression, rapped his knuckles hard on the front door, and waited to hear the sounds of people moving inside.

The house was a large and pretty one, built amongst lush trees and modeled in a distinct farmhouse style. The sun was setting as they stood on the doorstep, and Mathias was watching Flynn as he drew up beside him from the corner of his eye. He seemed more than a little bit impressed, gazing up at the neatly painted slatting and meticulously colour-coordinated detailing around the gutters.

“Not shabby,” He murmured, as though he was worried the winking bay windows and pansies in terracotta planters might overhear them. “Is it mate?”

“It’s not bad.”

The person who answered the door was a woman, short of stature and dressed in a mint green dressing gown. From their spot on the stoop Mathias could see that the foyer was styled like a reception, and he was relieved to observe that the woman must have been sitting at the desk beneath the stairs, watching something on an outdated computer.

“Oh,” She seemed pleased to see them, even though she didn’t know who they were. “Good evening sirs. I hadn’t thought we would get anymore guests this evening but I am pleased to see you arrived.”

“Not as pleased as we are to find you. I take it you still have a vacancy?”

“That’s right.” The lady smiled at him, then looked over to see Flynn standing a little bit behind. Flynn didn’t look half as put together, Mathias knew it, and he smelled like he might need a quick hose down in the garden before he was allowed inside.

Her face fell.

“Oh. Two of you?”

“Yes. Don’t mind him. He scrubs up alright.”

Mathias tried his best to come across as professional. Trustworthy. Tidy.

“Oh. Well, you see we only have one room upstairs at the moment. It’s nice enough but the two of you will have to share, if you don’t mind.”

Mathias didn’t miss a beat.

“We don’t mind.”

Flynn scoffed, but didn’t say anything. The lady furrowed her brow, but stepped aside to let the two of them through.

“We tried to get a hotel closer in town,” Mathias told her, as she rounded the desk and pulled herself up on the computer chair behind it. “But everything seems to be booked out.”

“Well of course! This weekend is the rare and exotic plant convention at the District Hall Center. People are traveling from across states to come here to our little town.” She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m going to need some form of ID and credit card.”

Mathias reached into his duffel bag, produced a false Driver’s License conspicuously _not_ issued by the English government, and a credit card embossed with a name to match. He pressed them onto the desk between them, and she took it without even a flicker of suspicion. He could already feel the softness of the pillow he was going to rest his head on when he got to their room.

An exotic plant convention though? What a stupid thing to want to do. It sounded like a customs and border management nightmare. But that was the state of Wisconsin’s problem and frankly, none of his business.

“That makes sense,” he said. The lady, who was entering the information on his card into her computer database, smiled.

“So, you two aren’t here for plants?” she asked, quite casually. If Mathias hadn’t been so sleep-deprived, he would have had no trouble coming up with a lie. As it were though, he hesitated. She finished entering his details and returned his cards.

“Uh….” He furrowed his brow. “No. No we’re Not here for plants.”

“Well what else is there then? If you don’t mind my asking?”

It was a good question. Why _would_ two adult men be checking into a Bed and Breakfast together, at the last minute on the weekend of an apparently popular plant convention? The first lie he thought of seemed obvious enough, but he didn’t particularly care for it. _Surely_ if he thought a little harder, he could come up with something other than that.

“We’re married,” Flynn blabbed, and the lie came out of him as easy as the air in his lungs might, if Shaw were to punch him in the testicles. “just yesterday. And what better way to celebrate martial bliss that uh… not looking at exotic plants.” he gave the woman behind the desk a bright grin, “of course, being only recently bound in holy matrimony… I hope this empty room is the most _private_ and _expensive_ room you have.”

He gave her a cheeky wink, and his hand came to rest on the back of Mathias’s back. The weight of the touch was not nearly as great as his burden on Mathias’s psyche. Mathias could feel himself blushing, which probably only served to validate the flagrant abuse of tactical fibbing he had just been privy too. The woman behind the desk raised her eyebrows and looked between them as though she thought they made an… interesting pair.

“Oh,” She said, hand hovering over a key hanging on a key rack on the wall behind her. There were three hooks on the rack and only one key, the one she had been about to pass them, remained. “I see. Well, the double suite does have a private bathroom, but I’m afraid it’s also upstairs. The floors and walls are old and creaky, and it’d be appreciated if you could keep any… volume under control.”

Flynn grinned at her and made a pistol with the hand not resting just above the curve of Mathias’s ass.

“Close enough,” he said. She gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, and pressed the bedroom key into Mathias’s outstretched hand.

…

The room, at least, was beautiful, and they had a generous bed.

Mathias set his duffel down on the floor beside the desk, which overlooked the front of the house and the road they had traveled to arrive, and after stripping off his shirt threw himself face down on it. He didn’t even bother removing his shoes.

What an experience.

It was like sliding into a little corner of heaven.

With the door closed and locked behind him, he felt secure and comfortable enough to let himself be vulnerable. He thought lamely that he really _should_ tie his companion up again, before remembering Flynn’s fear that the shadowy organizations at Mathias’s back would avenge him if anything untoward happened. It was convenient for Flynn to think as much, to believe that if he tried to skip out of this, both the English government _and_ the Uncrowned would spare no expense trying to track him down and kill him if necessary, and so Mathias definitely wasn’t about to tell him otherwise. Besides - he was already falling asleep, and he wanted the other man to shower before they had to share a room for the night. 

God. Sharing a room for the night…

In Mathias’s field of work, sharing hotel rooms with colleagues sometimes was an expected part of the job. Typically, the part that involved lying awake staring at the ceiling, listening to someone else snore. Rarely, he would be working with someone lower down in the echelons than he was, training or simply monitoring progress in order to make reports, but after a decade of this particular brand of nonsense even the most bothersome hotel experience hardly even phased him anymore. Why was it that the prospect of sharing a room with a man he had tied to a radiator yesterday daunted him? It was even more unsettling than the time his teammate on duty ate a whole plate full of rotten oysters, and Mathias had needed two whole weeks of vacation after that incident.

He groaned and pressed his face into the pillow, trying not to think about it.

Far away, he could hear the sound of a shower turning on, followed by the thump of a Austin Powers branded duffel bag being dumped on a tile floor. He supposed Flynn must have found the ensuite, and wondered fleetingly if he should try and cling to consciousness a little longer, so he could also take a shower too...

He didn’t wake up again for several hours, by which time the room was completely engulfed in darkness. His shoulder was aching, from sleeping at a weird angle, and he still had his boots on.

He could hear the sound of Flynn’s breathing, the same restful pattern he remembered from the car ride, coming from the shadowy side of the bed next to him. Swearing under his breath, Mathias stripped off his boots and trousers, and pulled back the blankets. The heat of another body, freshly clean and solid and smelling positively alluring, welcomed him under. It didn’t take him long before he was, once again, asleep.


	4. PART ONE: COLLISION ~ CHAPTER FOUR: FLYNN

“Did you know you snore?”

Flynn sat at the desk by the window, watching attentively as Mathias Shaw toweled himself off and dressed, in casual jeans and a slim fitted V neck sweater. It was obvious from the way he grimaced that this outfit wasn’t his usual flavour, and Flynn could relate because for some reason Tess had filled _his_ duffel with chinos. Rather than make any pissy statements about how he looked, however, Shaw told Flynn that no, he didn’t snore, and also that Flynn was a liar.

“I assure you,” Flynn told him, recalling what it had been like to wake up at six am to the sound of a man sawing logs right next to him. “You definitely snore. Maybe get that checked out you might have that thing… what’s it called? Inebriated septum?”

“ _Deviated_ septum,” Shaw scowled, balling up his wet towel and throwing it at him forcibly. The towel fell to the floor in a pathetic heap. His hair was still dripping wet from where he had washed it in the shower. Flynn had offered to help him with that, since he had seemed more or less dead on his feet when he had dragged his carcass out of bed that morning, but for some reason he had declined the offer.

His loss.

“God,” Flynn laughed. “and I thought you were cranky yesterday!”

Shaw glowered at him like he wanted to make a clean towel out of his hide. Flynn decided he would refrain from being so himself for a while. At least until his company had had some coffee.

…

Flynn managed to convince him to go to IHOP. No one had _ever_ agreed to go with him to IHOP before, and because he was a fully grown man who had recently believed he was about to die in real life, he thought he deserved to be incredibly excited about it.

“Can I order bacon and pancakes?” He asked with great enthusiasm, momentarily forgetting his decision to tone it down until Shaw had had a fresh caffeine injection straight into his veins.

His companion stared at him over the top of a laminated menu with cold, dead eyes.

“I don’t know,” He responded flatly. “Can you?”

Flynn slapped his menu down on the table with resolution. “Aye mate, let’s find out!”

Fortunately, as Flynn had hoped, the coffee helped somewhat. Even if it did taste like it had been made with water fresh out the bilge. Flynn could see him resurrecting with each sip, his shoulders squaring, the haggard glimmer in his eyes receding until he was his usual, stoneface self once more. As they sat in silence, he picked slowly at his French toast, and Flynn noted that he didn’t even put maple syrup on it.

“You want some of this?” Flynn asked, offering the squeezy bottle he had been using to douse his own mountain of fluffy salty goodness. Shaw shook his head.

“Too early for that much sugar,” he said. “Was this really the only breakfast place in town?”

Flynn winked at him, but said nothing. Shaw sighed.

“You’re like a child.”

At this, Flynn laughed aloud.

“An innocent child?”

“No. A vexatious one.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Flynn said, and stabbed the last scrap of his pancake with his fork. He used it to wipe the last of the syrup off the sides of his plate. Shaw’s eyes fluttered, as though he almost, _almost_ registered the fib, but his desire to see Flynn as nothing more than a dullard won out. He, like so many others, seemed reluctant to consider Flynn an intellectual equal, which was on some level deeply upsetting but on another… it was this which had ensured that Flynn had made it this far in life.

“Alright.” Shaw’s eyes touched briefly on Flynn’s empty plate, then lifted again in an instant of eye-contact. It made a strange shiver move up Flynn’s spine, but he ignored it, and the moment was fleeting, besides. It was Shaw who dragged his gaze away first this time.

He had such green eyes.

“Do you want to finish mine?” He asked, gesturing at his plate. Flynn did, relieving him of it as Mathias poured his fifth refill into his bottomless coffee cup. “Now I’m feeling myself, we need to talk business.” He cocked his head a little, eyes flickering up to the carefully polished ‘Brand protection and Quality Award’ plaque hanging on the wall behind Flynn’s head. Flynn could tell that he was using the reflection in it, mapping the people and space in the restaurant, and making sure there was no one suspicious sitting in the room behind them. He was very skilled at making it not obvious, but Flynn was very good at reading people. Flynn wondered if he had lied, about working for the FBI.

“Business?” Flynn emptied half a bottle of syrup over the sad looking bits of French toast still on Shaw’s plate.

“Yes.” He looked away from the plaque, apparently content that there were no eavesdroppers in the vicinity, fixing Flynn with his intense green gaze again instead. “Your business.”

“ _My_ Business?!” Flynn laughed. “what about _my_ business? I’ve already told you everything I know.”

This was a lie. Shaw knew it. He shook his head just an increment.

“You’ve told me some things,” he said, “But I need details. You are still willing to take me to the Ashvane head office later today?”

“Yeah, I am, as long as you let me stay out of sight. But hold up a moment.” Flynn pushed the empty toast plate aside, and leaned in close. He dropped his voice, in the exaggerated only semi-effective way that people do when they are taking the piss. “Shouldn’t we be a little more hush hush about this? Seems a little dangerous to be discussing this kind of undercover stuff out in the open. I thought you were supposed to be a professional?”

Shaw stared at him for a moment, expression neutral, before lifting his hand and delivering a sharp flick to the center of Flynn’s forehead.

“Ow! Fuck! What was that for?!”

“Don’t play the fool. This is serious. Acting like a clown will only call attention to us, and there’s no one here in hearing range so talk like a normal human being, if you please.”

Flynn scowled, rubbing the stinging spot on his forehead and sitting back so he was as far away from Mathias Shaw and his flick happy fingers as possible.

“You’re an asshole, Shaw. You know that right?”

“Flynn. I’ve had you tied you up like a time-off request in a department of nonsense bureaucracies, and I’ve endured the experience of watching you eat bacon with pancakes. I think we ought to be on a first name basis.”

“Alright, _Mathias.”_ Flynn tried very hard to make it sound prim and pretentious, but he wasn’t very good at it. _“_ You’re still an asshole.”

Mathias arched an eyebrow, but rather than respond he reached for the coffee jug sitting next to them and poured himself another cup. His sixth one. He was going to need to piss about five times in the next hour, Flynn thought.

“A lot of my colleagues say that too,” He remarked. “But anyway. Business. Please enlighten me.”

Flynn sighed.

“Alright,” The sooner he gave him the answers he was expecting, Flynn figured, the sooner he would be free to go. Surely he could invent some believable tale on the fly? “What specifically is it that you want to know?”

…

They were walking across the carpark at IHOP, preparing to drive to the office building the Ashvane company favored as their North American headquarters, when Flynn saw him. He would have recognized that shape _anywhere,_ not least because of its vertical dimension. The moment he caught it in the edge of his vision, he was preparing to bolt. Naturally, Mathias noticed, giving him a questioning look, but Flynn was too busy trying to shrink behind him to provide any explanation.

“What are you doing?”

“Hiding, stupid. You’re a spy you should know what hiding looks like when you see t.”

“I’m not – _Flynn_!”

He squealed when Flynn grabbed his waist and pulled him, like a human shield between himself and the man across the carpark. This, of course, attracted the man’s attention. He turned to sneer at them, and Flynn was pretty sure he was about to be murdered right there on the spot. Apparently, though, Mathias was wide enough across the shoulders to obscure most of Flynn’s body. After a few seconds, Harlan turned his face away and continued shuffling across the carpark. Flynn, for now, remained unspotted.

“Let go of me!”

Mathias sounded pretty pissed off. He tried to pull Flynn’s hands away, obviously refraining from deploying deadly force, but the grip on his hips was too strong to be escaped using anything less than a punch that would render Flynn unconscious. They scuffled for a moment, until Flynn realised he didn’t actually need to be holding onto Mathias’ body for dear life. He released him, and scuttled to the passenger side of the car – out of sight of the entrance to the IHOP and out of reach of the furious man he had just accidentally groped.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Mathias hissed at him, striding to his own side of the car and smacking his hands flat on the roof to emphasize annoyance. “If you do that shit again, I will _not_ be responsible for what I do to you!”

He looked flustered, a fierce blush in his cheeks, but Flynn was too busy being paranoid to really pay attention. He tried to peer through the car windows, watching to see Harlan enter the IHOP and approach the counter. Mathias slapped the roof of the car again.

“Oi! Flynn! What the fuck?!”

This snapped him out of it.

Flynn erected himself and with wide eyes he regarded Mathias over the dusty red hood of the vehicle.

“Sorry Mat,” His breath was a little ragged. His heart was racing. His guts felt like they had been dropped on the tarmac a few feet away. “It’s just that guy. I knew him. For a moment I thought he might see me.”

“What?” Mathias’ brow furrowed. “What guy?”

Flynn was about to tell him, when he was cut off by a loud beeping sound he didn’t recognize. A phone notification? He got his answer when Mathias brought his wrist up, and tapped an impatient finger on a button on the side of his crazy watch. Flynn noticed he wore it with the buckle on the outside of his arm, with the face turned inwards. Military style.

“Your pulse is registering as elevated.” Mathias told him, as he glanced over the details on the screen, then turned it off again and dropped his hand back to his side. “but please continue.”

Flynn was disconcerted by the idea that Mathias actually got _notified_ when his pulse sped up. He continued with his explanation, nonetheless.

“A man just went into the IHOP we left,” He said. “by the name of Harlan Sweete. We worked together for Ashvane. He found out early that I was planning to leave, and put in a sterling effort to stop me before I did.”

He couldn’t help the bitterness that honed his voice. Mathias blinked, processing this new information.

“A guy just went to the IHOP,” He said, and an odd expression passed over his face. “and I _didn’t_ see him?”

“He’s really short,” Flynn explained.

“That’s not an excuse.”

Mathias looked gravely concerned now, and Flynn wondered fleetingly what the big deal was. It didn’t matter if Mathias saw him or _not,_ what mattered was that he was here, in this little town, probably doing business. And that meant that Mathias needed to pay attention to what Flynn was telling him.

“What? Ok. I mean, cool. But it doesn’t matter about that, what matters is that _he works for Ashvane_. And yet he is here, loitering about. Does that not strike you as a bit unusual?”

Mathias looked at him, the spot between his eyebrows still deeply creased. The flush on his cheeks was starting to fade away, annoyance and embarrassment replaced by worry.

“I _am_ losing it,” He said, more to himself than to his company. “I am losing it completely.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. Since when had he cared more about this garbage fire situation that Mathias did?

“Ok sure. How about losing it in the car though? He could come out again at any moment.”

The time it took to unlock the car and climb in was just about enough time for Mathias to pull himself together again. With his elbows resting against the steering wheel, he buried his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. For some reason, the gesture was endearing. It reminded Flynn of the car ride out of Chicago – the welcome, human warmth of Mathias’ body, and the sense that he was a person with a whole and complex world inside of him. Flynn wondered what it was that had led him to this point in his life. Sitting in a car outside an IHOP far from home, his head bowed into his hands as if trying to block out everything around him. It probably wasn’t a trail of good things.

Something the two of them had in common, then.

“Okay,” Mathias sighed, sitting back and letting his arms fall limp over the steering wheel. “Okay sorry. Tell me what you said about this guy again?”

“Harlan Sweete?” Flynn asked. Mathias nodded.

“Yes. Him. He worked with you?”

“Yeah.”

Flynn watched as Mathias pressed his lips together and reached up to drop down the sun visor in the roof of the vehicle. There was a small mirror tucked into it, for makeup application or something to that effect, but conveniently enough it also provided a narrow reflection of the IHOP exit. Enough to see anyone coming and going there, at least.

“He still works for Ashvane, then?”

“I assume so.” Flynn paused for a moment, then decided to tell him as much truth as he could without incriminating himself. He could fill in the rest with, well… invention. “The two of us used to ship other merchandise when I was younger. When Ashvane hired us, it was a twofer deal of sorts.”

“How long were you working for Ashvane together?”

“Four years. Give or take. I got pretty good at the work, and I think my crews liked me for the most part. Sweete though… Sweete never got on with anyone. No one except me. But in the end…”

Flynn’s sentence caught. He felt a small prick of pain in his heart, as though pressing something cold against a scar that had healed long ago.

“In the end?”

“In the end he still tried to kill me.”

He paused for a moment, realizing something very unfortunate about himself and the life he was currently in.

“God.” He spoke the thought aloud, as if doing so might make it less scary a truth. “I’ve been almost murdered so many times. I’m not even thirty.”

Mathias sighed.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Flynn.”

They sat in silence for a while. Flynn knew without him having to say so, that Mathias wanted to wait to see this man leave the IHOP before they made their next move. The prospect of possibly trailing him made Flynn’s blood turn cold, but at the same time it was a sensible idea. At least, so far as Mathias was concerned.

“Last I saw him,” Flynn said, to fill the quiet, “Was in Chicago. I have no idea why he would be here.”

“Headquarters?” Mathias asked. Flynn shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Unless he’s in my spot as captain now? Sometimes they’d bring me up here to collect the special manifests.”

“The ones you were trying to find in Chicago?”

“Exactly.”

Flynn had explained in the IHOP, more about the manifests he had mentioned what seemed like a lifetime ago, in Chicago. He had explained about how they never send them digitally, only ever passing them hand to hand, and he had even pointed out how they weren’t even really llegally manifests, but he omitted certain details about how he knew that. They had looked like ones used for customs, but some of the cargo would be listed using numerical codes instead of labels. They had always had them prepared well in advance of travel too, and it was apparent to anyone who knew about these that every single shipment had in fact been planned around the shipping of unsourced weaponry at prognosticated intervals.

Mathias looked thoughtful for a moment, still watching the makeup mirror in the visor.

“Why did they keep all that information in Chicago?” he asked.

“That was where all the shipping was managed. But I expect that’s something you already knew, at least in part, since you were looking for the paperwork too.”

Mathias nodded. Flynn wondered briefly how much this man _did_ know. More than Flynn thought he did, probably. A prospect that was really rather daunting. But if that was the case, why did he need Flynn’s help? It became more and more ominous each day, that Ashvane company was attracting the interest of so many investigative agencies. Shaw had mentioned that he was here in collaboration with an organization separate from his own. That must be Tess’s people, right? For that matter, who _were_ Tess’s people? What did _they_ know?

 _Mathias doesn’t know who Harlan Sweete is,_ he thought to himself, _So it’s probable that he doesn’t know who Finbar Clearwater is, either._

This could very much prove to be to Flynn’s advantage.

“Hey Mat?”

Mathias’s eyes fluttered briefly in annoyance.

“I said you could call me by my first name, not a diminutive. That’s the third time you’ve done it.”

“Your name is a mouthful,” Flynn smiled. “But I’m surprised you’ve been counting.”

He seemed displeased by this response, but didn’t choose to pursue it.

“Ok. What do you want?”

“Are you sure you aren’t going to tell me what you’re doing here yet? It seems a little unfair, that You get all this information about me and I know nothing about you. Besides the fact you really like coffee.”

This earned a slight shake of his head.

“Not unfair at all,” He said. “besides. There’s nothing else to know.”

“Now that’s blatantly untrue.”

Flynn could tell from the lines around the edges of his mouth, and the scars on the back of his hands, that this was not the case. He would have hazarded a guess that Mathias even had more to him than his scars. Maybe secretly he was the kind of person who liked classical music, and books by JRR Tolkein. Maybe secretly he liked to play cards like Flynn did, and after a few glasses of whiskey he might loosen up a little. Smile. Let Flynn push his hair back off his face so he could see the freckles on his cheeks a touch more clearly.

Oh no.

Flynn curled his toes in his boots and turned his face the other way, to gaze out the window. Thoughts like that didn’t help any situation, especially not one with a power dynamic quite like this. It was all very possible that he was just going crazy. He’d pin it on the drink but tragically, he had been sober now for over two days.

“Is that him?”

His voice startled Flynn out of his thoughts. When he turned around to check the person exiting, he saw that it was. A short, fat man carrying a coffee in a steaming polystyrene cup.

“That is definitely him.”

Mathias’ jaw tensed. He stuffed the keys into the ignition and started the car. On the opposite side of the carpark, Harlan was climbing into the cabin of a decrepit looking Buick. He paid no attention to the nondescript Accord across the way, or to the two men sitting there watching him from it. Harlan had always been bad at environmental awareness – his head had always been much too far up his own ass for that kind of thing. If Mathias was _really_ going to try and tail him, then that particular quality would probably be a blessing.

“Alright then, Fairwind” Mathias said, more to himself than to his company. “I will take your word for it. This had better not be a wild goose chase.”

“what happened to first name basis?” Flynn asked, conscious of a warm flush rising in his face. Mathias glanced at him sideways, green eyes serious. Intelligent. Intense.

“Sorry. I’m trusting you, Flynn _._ ”

 _Oh no._ Flynn wanted to tell him, _don’t do that._

But he didn’t say it.

…

Mathias was good at trailing someone – almost as though he had done it many times before. He seemed to know by instinct when to slow down and speed up again, and he knew how to shrink back and allow other cars between him and Harlan’s Buick when the traffic was thin and there was a chance that they might have been spotted. Flynn’s heart was at the back of his tongue the whole time, his stomach crawling with an increasing, ticklish anxiety. A part of him hoped that Mathias would lose him, that Harlan would disappear around a corner and be gone from Flynn’s life forevermore, but alas, Mathias was far too skilled for that. He had a natural clock in him, perfectly predicting the timing on his turns and pauses, and as they wove their way through the small, familiar streets, Harlan’s vehicle was never out of target range.

And then, they found themselves heading towards the backroads out of the town and into the hills, and Flynn’s nervousness doubled. There was no other traffic out this way, and no buildings, carparks or corners to shelter them if Harlan decided to check his rearview. Flynn sunk low into his seat as narrow paved streets gave way to potholed dirt roads, and small storefronts and driveways became fewer and fewer. Mathias had slowed enough now that the Buick was a fair distance away, and in the dappled light that shone through the thickening canopy of towering trees, it was probably far enough that Harlan wouldn’t be able to see either their faces or their license plate, should he look back and see them.

Arguably, though, following him on his route was more innocent than following him through town. There was only one road out here, after all, and if one followed it far enough then eventually, they would reach the highway. For all Harlan knew, they were a pair of perfectly inconspicuous newlyweds traveling around the edge of the lake to some interstate. Being caught following him in town would have been a lot harder to explain away.

“This is the road we took to get to the cabin yesterday,” Mathias said. “You mentioned it’s a way out of town?”

“Yeah,” Flynn confirmed, comforted to hear him say something after being locked in focused silence for so long. “It meets the highway a few miles west from here.”

“And these woods. You say they are filled with old mines?”

“Yeah, old mines and wells and shacks like that cabin. Some wildlife, of course.”

“Of course. Though I think I’d rather avoid and wildlife encounters if I can help it.”

“Oh?” Flynn chortled, struck by a most humorous image of his companion trying to truss a moose to a hotel radiator. That particular style of self-defense probably wouldn’t fly too well, in the wilderness. “Not a fan of bears, huh? I guess you don’t have many of those in England.”

“Actually,” Mathias deadpanned. “We have plenty, and I’m quite fond of them. Never had one in my car before, though.”

“That’s probably fortunate. They might _look_ cute, but everyone knows they are dangerous as all hell.”

Mathias gave him a dry glance out of the corner of his eye – one Flynn couldn’t quite make heads or tails of. It did make him feel somewhat self-conscious, though.

“What?” Flynn asked.

“Nothing.”

Mathias returned his attention to the vehicle in front of them.

They drove on in silence for another five minutes, drawing closer and closer to the cabin they had visited less than twenty-four hours before. In spite of what Flynn had told him, there really wasn’t anything of interest out further than here – the mines in these parts were well and truly defunct, and the cabins and lean-tos that occasionally interrupted the dense foliage were in much worse condition than the lakeside one. Flynn had resigned himself to the idea that Harlan must be on his way out of town, headed for the interstate, and that despite Mathias’ trust he really _had_ led them on a wild goose chase.

Until he spotted the Buick turn right ahead, down the same rugged dirt turnoff they had driven on themselves not twenty-four hours before.

Mathias sucked in air through his teeth, and decreased his foot pressure on the accelerator.

“The cabin?” He asked. “Why is he going to the cabin?”

Flynn shrugged. He didn’t have a clue. He had thought no one else really knew about the place, and he had _definitely_ never taken Harlan there. As far as Flynn knew, it was just a grotty little hovel that he had always thought looked kind of cool. Maybe Harlan thought the same? Maybe he, like the two of them, had come to the town for the weekend unprepared for any kind of plant convention and been unable to find a place to say. It bothered Flynn, somewhat, that Harlan and him would have a similar idea, even though they had shared many before.

“Please don’t tell me you want to find out?” Flynn asked, knowing the answer before Mathias even needed to say it.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We clearly need to follow him, this might be important.”

Of course.

Flynn groaned as their car drew slowly up to the turn off, and rolled to a stop against the edge of the road. Mathias yanked the handbrake, and turned off the ignition. He tucked his keys into his pocket and was already exiting the car before Flynn could swear at him, and fling out a hand to catch his arm.

“Can I stay here?” He implored. “I really, _really_ don’t want –“

“Flynn. you need to come with me. I need someone to watch my back.”

His expression was so grave that Flynn couldn’t remember how to say no, even though he tried. _God,_ he tried. As he stepped out of the vehicle, Flynn replayed the last time he had seen Harlan over and over on repeat in his head. There had been harsh words. Some violence. And Flynn had scarpered before he could think to do anything else because avoidance had always been his favourite strategy. When things got tough, Flynn got going, but now he found himself thinking that on some level, he was scared that Mathias would discover that soon.

For some reason, Flynn _really_ didn’t want him too.

Mathias gestured wordlessly for him to follow, and swallowing his nerves like a shot of bad whiskey Flynn did as he was told. They ducked down the turn off, onto the short gravel drive that would take them down towards the cabin, and once they were around the corner Flynn could see the tail of Harlan’s vehicle parked where theirs had been the day before. The trees along the turnoff were dense, and the ground boasted some degree of undergrowth, but there were gaps between the trunks that made their coverage sparse and so, Flynn felt unpleasantly exposed as he shuffled along behind his company. He craned his neck to see whether or not Harlan was still in his vehicle or if he was by the cabin, poking around outside.

He was so busy trying to catch a glimpse that he walked straight into Mathias’s back, and received a rather irritated ‘shhhh!’ gesture from over the other man's shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed he had paused mid-creep to procure something from the hem of his trouser leg.

 _Sorry,_ he mouthed, and Mathias glared at him still, as he drew a small, sleek gun from a holster strapped to his ankle.

Wait, where did he get that from?!

Flynn’s eyes widened in shock. Had he been carrying that around with him the whole time? Or did Tess pack it for him in that unassuming duffel? Flynn did not like that, not one bit – he had seen enough gun violence to last a lifetime, when he had lived in New York City.

Mathias, spotting the expression on his face, pulled his shoulders into a defensive shrug.

 _So what?_ He was asking. _It’s no big deal. I am a professional. I know what I’m doing._

Flynn grimaced. He wondered when the two of them had decided it was better to speak in warped facial tics and silent gestures than to whisper a sound, and the ridiculousness of the situation struck him like a baton to the gut. The same kind of baton the guard at the warehouse had used to down him that Friday morning, probably. Rather than amuse him, though, it just made him feel kind of sick.

Now armed and ready, Mathias turned his back to Flynn again, and they resumed their crawl towards the cabin. Flynn was lagging behind now, his breathing slightly too shallow, his heart beginning to increase speed in his chest. He remembered his wristband. How it had bleeped at him angrily earlier in the carpark, and swore to himself. He stopped walking, and his hesitation rustled on the gravel and leaves. Mathias slowly turned his head, just far enough to peer at him again.

 _It’s going to beep,_ Flynn mouthed, pointing to his watch. Mathias’s brow furrowed, as though he hadn’t quite understood what Flynn was trying to convey. Flynn tried again, jabbing his finger at his watch more forcibly.

 _It’s going to beep._ He exaggerated the shape of every sound, enough that it probably warped any lip reading Mathias could’ve attempted. Fortunately, his frantic hand gestured relayed the information effectively, and with a nod of recognition Mathias twisted his wrist a little to check his own band. Flynn’s vitals were probably blowing the damn thing off the charts. A strange look flickered over Mathias’s face, but was swept away again promptly. He returned his hands to clutching his tiny, shiny gun.

 _Stay here then,_ he mouthed. _Come if I yell._ And he looked at Flynn in a way that conveyed exactly what Flynn thought he intended it to.

_If he tries to escape, stop his car with your body or something._

There wasn’t a chance in hell Flynn was doing that, but he wasn’t able to express this at this time.

Instead, he remained standing there, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, while Mathias finally ducked around the edge of the driveway by the cabin and out of sight. If possible, this made his heart rate increase even more, and there was a very nasty moment where Flynn believed his watch was going to go off again. Thinking fast, he hooked his fingers into the band, where the back of the device pressed against his bare skin. Blessedly, this seemed to do the trick – the device must have needed skin contact on the sensor to work as intended. As the seconds passed and he heard no sound of grappling and no gunshots, he felt himself relax. Maybe Harlan was inside the cabin. Maybe he was already lying down on that rank, mouldy sofa Mathias had fallen into yesterday. Or maybe he had decided to hide away somewhere even more secure than the cabin – beneath the safe, albeit rotted hatch to the cellar, in the middle of the cabin floor.

_Wait a minute. The hatch!_

The realization seemed to come out of nowhere, like a sudden lighting storm. Surely, _surely_ Mathias must remember that? If Harlan wasn’t in the Buick, and wasn’t outside the cabin, then the only other option would be that he was under the building in the cellar. But why in the fuck would he be going down there?

Flynn would think about that later. For now, his job was to stay back and come if Mathias called. Provided he kept his breath regular, and _maybe_ if he shrunk back a little into the trees, he would be able to manage that. Rather than ponder why he would be willing to put himself in extreme danger to assist this man who had basically kidnapped him, he stepped back a little into the undergrowth. His back brushed against the truck of a hulking cedar, and much to his surprise his shirt caught against something strangely pointed. He twisted around to glance at it, and was alarmed to see that the thing that had snagged him was a jutting U nail. A U nail that was pinning a thin, brownish wire to the side of the tree.

Flynn’s eyes followed the trail of the wire, up the side of the trunk and into the canopy. High above him, out of reach of his hands, he thought he could spot where the wire terminated. It looked like it led to some kind of box. A small black thing, which glinted a little in the dappled sun.

_Oh._

That wasn’t good.

Flynn, familiar with the ins-and-outs of both Ashvane shipping warehouses and head office, had seen cameras like that plenty of times before.

“Mat,” He breathed, without even realizing it.

Inhaling deeply, and steeling himself against the fear that churned in him at the thought of edging into the open space in front of the cabin, Flynn strode forward as fast as he possibly could without making any noise at all. He was relieved when he rounded the corner, to see that Mathias was indeed still alive and investigating, trying to peer into one of the windows of the place in a way that reminded Flynn of how children played spy games on the playground.

“ _Mat!”_ he hissed, allowing the faintest sound to come out of his chest and apparently, starling his companion when he did so. “We need to go! Immediately!”

Mathias glared at him, features pinched, anger rising in a red tide up his cheeks and neck.

 _Idiot,_ he mouthed, _shut the fuck up please!_

Flynn shook his head, trying to emphasize how important it was that the two of them left five minutes ago. Now he was in the clearing, he could see that the Buick was indeed empty, and if Harlan wasn’t in there then that meant he _had_ to be in the cabin, either upstairs or down in the cellar, and it was very likely that he was watching them from a monitor wherever he was. Would he have been here the day before, too? Was there video footage now in this world of Mathias faceplanting into a rancid piece of furniture?

“We need to go,” He insisted. “There’s cameras here. All around us.”

He gestured up into the trees, guiding Mathias’ eyes to the surveillance equipment perched in branches. The unseeing lenses watched them with no emotion as though they were a spectacle on a stage. Flynn hoped the two of them would give them no reason to applaud.

Mathias blanched, and the hands holding the firearm in a tight, well-practiced posture by his shoulder, dropped limply to his side.

_Fuck._

He wasted no time covering the ground he had crossed already, seizing Flynn by the sleeve and yanking him urgently back in the direction from whence they came. His expression looked positively terrifying - a mixture between fury and embarrassment. Flynn wasn’t sure what of it was directed at him. They bundled back into the car, and Mathias started the engine, and once the hum of the vehicle starting filled the cabin he swore in the way that Flynn had only ever heard when he was with sailors.

“Did you know about the cameras?” He turned to Flynn, eyes flashing furiously, ears flushed in a way that might have been cute, if he didn’t look so positively livid.

“Of course not!” Flynn told him, honestly, “Why would I have pointed them out if I knew!”

“Why would you take me somewhere riddled with surveillance equipment without warning me?!”

“ _I didn’t know they were fucking there!”_

Mathias just sat there, glowering at him, holding the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip. Flynn’s heart was throbbing at the back of his throat, and he was aware that his own face was probably bright pink, in anger, or shame, or humiliation, he didn’t know.

“They belong to Ashvane?” Mathias managed eventually, his voice so terse it made Flynn’s ears twinge.

Flynn winced, expecting him to either yell, or maybe throw a punch at him.

“... I think so?”

Mathias’ nostrils flared. A muscle in his jaw spasmed, and his eyes fluttered. Every single cell in Flynn’s body was buzzing, ready to smack him back if he tried to start anything first. Flynn remembered that he currently had a gun concealed somewhere on his person, and a horribly vivid image of blood spatter on the inside of a car window made his lungs hitch in his chest.

 _Keep it together, Flynn,_ he heard Taelia’s voice, familiar and reassuring, echo inside his head. _Keep it together, chin up, let's go._

Yes. She was right. He had to keep it together. Had to keep a straight face. This was very hard to do though, when, instead of devolving into a violent outburst, Mathias closed his eyes, exhaled a long, deep breath, and let his whole-body sag into a relaxed posture again.

“Okay,” he said, and all trace of anger had gone from his tone, replaced instead with a weariness that resounded deep in places that Flynn hadn't even known he had in his soul. “Okay, Flynn. I need a moment. Everything about this job has spiraled so far out of control I have no idea how to handle it, anymore.”

He opened his eyes again, gaze fixed on a point out in front of the windshield, but Flynn could tell by their glaze that he wasn’t really seeing anything in front of him - is thoughts were a million miles away. Flynn thought he looked even more tired than he did yesterday. This was something he wouldn’t have expected to be possible, if the proof hadn’t been right there in front of him.

_What on earth has this man been through?_

“... I take it you aren’t up to go to headquarters still?” Flynn asked him dumbly. Mathias shook his head. He dropped a hand to the handbrake, and flicked on the indicator to pull off the road lines even though the road both ways was deserted.

“Not right now. If there’s cameras, there’s something of value here we need to learn more about,” He said. “I can’t press on until I consult with London. I’m going to need back up, and at least three more agents, and no offence but I really don’t think you’re up to it.”

“None taken.”

Mathias gave Flynn a tight smile.

“I really need another coffee,” He said. “Let’s go back, and when we are at the bed and breakfast I can send a few emails. Maybe later we can do a drive past of the headquarters and ask a few locals about it?”

His words were, as ever, professional. But Flynn could tell by the defeated look in his eye that all he really wanted to do was stay in the room and watch whatever terrible movie he could find on youtube. Maybe he didn’t _know_ that was what he wanted, but Flynn did. He was pretty familiar with that particular emotion, himself.

“Maybe,” He said, resisting the urge to reach out and give him a reassuring pat. Maybe a squeezy kind of hug. “I am really sorry. About the cabin. I never would have brought us here yesterday if I’d known...”

He wasn’t sure if his regret was because by doing so, he had drawn attention to _himself_ again, of if it was because he had now drawn Mathias into his personal line of fire.

….

Flynn sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the bruises on his wrist. If possible, they looked even worse today than they did yesterday, but at least they didn’t cause him any pain. The tracking watch was still on his arm. The two of them had ultimately decided to do the drive past after all, and upon finding the old office building completely empty, Flynn had started to feel a pit of dread developing in his stomach. After some cajoling, Mathias had agreed they could come back to the hotel and hide away safely so he could message his colleagues, and after that Flynn had made him agree they would watch a movie on his work laptop. Policy be damned. 

_A little bit or normalcy in a wild world,_ he had said, _will absolutely help_. Though he did not specify which of them needed it more.

For now, Mathias was sitting on the other side of the bed, wearing a tidy pair of square framed glasses and resting his open laptop on his thighs. Judging by the speed and intensity at which he was typing, Flynn guessed he was probably writing everything that had happened the last two days in painstaking detail. He thought again of Tae – about how she hadn’t heard from him now for fourty-eight-hours. Was it worth asking again if he could talk to her? He didn’t want to have to explain her role in it all, any more than he had wanted to explain his own.

“Who are you writing?” He asked, pulling off his shoes and kicking across the room to land behind the door.

“Renzik,” Mathias told him, effortlessly. “I need to tell him how things went today, and I’m thinking about making him leave his holiday and join us here on the job. He might hate me for it, I know, but we all make sacrifices in the name of duty.”

“Duty, eh?” Flynn crawled onto the bed and drew close enough to peer over Mathias’ shoulder. Sure enough, the email he was writing was a fair dissertation. The specific language of the email though? It eluded him.

“Just smacking your hand on the keyboard there I see?”

“No dummy, its English.” The corner of Mathias’ lip curled up, and it was hard to tell if it was in amusement of pity. “It’s a cipher.”

“Oh… right.” Flynn knew what most average people knew of ciphers – that they were things spies used in high budget movies, and that they were good for transmitting secret information during wars. The closest thing he knew to a cryptic language, though, was nautical semaphore. And anyone with an internet connection or a laminated card of translated symbols could learn that.

He was a little bit impressed.

“That actually _is_ a bit James Bond of you,” He said. “Are you going to seduce a mysterious Femme fatale into giving you the information you need, as well? You sure do a lot of spy-like things for someone who claims not to be a spy at all.”

Mathias’ fingers paused in their typing for a moment – and Flynn realized that he might have said something wrong.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he replied.

“Well, yes obviously. Why?”

“Well for one thing, that never happens so write that down.” Mathias gave Flynn a disapproving look over the top of his glasses, and then as an afterthought, he added. “Also, why do you keep bringing up spies?”

“I don’t know, Mat. But it tracks.”

“Does it?”

Flynn nodded.

“Sure. You have the secret cipher. The fancy GPS watches. You like breaking and entering, apparently. And Oh,” He snapped his fingers, remembering something important. “you also do kidnapping. Don’t forget that.”

“Oh my god, Flynn. Let it go.” Shaw seemed exasperated, he closed the laptop and set it aside on the bedside table. “I told you, you will be free to leave once we are finished here _,_ and you need never think about me or this whole situation ever again.”

Flynn laughed and held up his hands. “Alright, I know. I mean I’m still kind of mad about it but. I don’t believe in holding a grudge so for you? I will let it go.”

He pulled off his socks and crawled up the mattress so he could recline against the pillow. It had been a particularly exhausting day, and even though it wasn’t very late he found himself ready to go to sleep. As he pulled his hair out of the ponytail he had kept it in, he wondered if Tess had had the forethought to pack him a hairbrush. Probably not. He sighed, and began detangling as best he could with his fingers. He had thought the conversation was over now, so when Mathias opened his mouth again it took him by surprise.

“Just so you know, it’s not called “Being a spy”. It’s called ‘working in intelligence’ and it’s a lot less glamorous than you’d think.”

“Huh?”

Shaw rolled his eyes. It was a gesture that took Flynn aback for a moment – he hadn’t pinned the man as the sassy type.

“Intelligence. It’s not very glamorous. Mostly paperwork. And budget applications. Also, sometimes this.” He gestured around the hotel room, as if trying to indicate not just the space, the entire situation. “But this kind of fieldwork only happens from time to time.”

Flynn frowned.

“Wait, you _are_ a spy?”

Shaw stared at him, deadpan, so he hurried to correct himself.

“Sorry. Intelligence… guy?”

“Intelligence _agent._ And maybe I am. but If I were to confirm or deny then I _would_ have to kill you.” Shaw removed his glasses, and sat them on the table next to the laptop.

“I mean, however charming you are with that accent of yours mate, there’s always gonna be the chance you kill me anyway.”

His mouth twitched a little, as though he was trying to resist a smile.

“I prefer not to kill people if I can help it – Violence really isn’t my style. But if it makes you feel any better, I know how to do it so you wouldn’t even notice.”

“… Oh yes. Very reassuring. Now I get to enjoy the experience of wondering if you’re killing me right now.”

This time, the smile actually managed to surface, and Flynn was positively stunned to see it. It was the first time Shaw had looked anything other than annoyed or tired. Flynn’s heart did a funny thing in his chest.

“I’m not killing you right now.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“You’re going to have to.”

The bed creaked as Shaw sat back, and they were lying on top of the bed together, side by side. Flynn thought that when he wasn’t holding himself with such intense composure, he was actually fairly slight. It seemed to jive well with his movement, which was extremely controlled and lithe, and Flynn found himself thinking the same thing he had thought last night when he had come out from the ensuite and seen him sleeping.

_I really could just overpower him if I wanted to. I could tie him up and break him, even though it would cost me my life._

“Aye, I guess I am.”

They retreated into silence, Flynn’s heart beginning to hammer in his chest but this time, not because of fear. He felt Mathias watching him as he resumed detangling his hair. If, hypothetically, he _did_ decide to just debilitate this guy and leg it, where would he end up running to? What would he do with himself in the aftermath? Surely Taelia would be able to take him in. Help him out. Keep him safe from the inevitable chaos the weekend's events had set in motion.

But just as he had last night, Flynn found himself thinking that he just did not want to do that. The places the two of them had been pressed together in the back of the BMW were still warm with the ghost of his bodyheat.

“This is a vulnerable position for me to be in too, Flynn. You do know that, right?”

Mathias’ simple statement made Flynn flush. He wondered if the self-implied intelligence agent was only in his job because he could read minds. It seemed like the kind of skill that would be useful, along those lines.

“No way. I’m shit scared of Tess and her knife.”

Mathias sighed. “You know what I said about budgets?”

“They’re the hardest part of the job?”

Shaw nodded – Flynn could see him staring at him intently still, from the corner of his eye.

“There’s no way they would _ever_ approve the budget that taking out a hit on you would require. And Tess and I don’t even work for the same people. She is all talk and no bite, and to her group I am just someone they did a favor for. Besides, you don’t get to where we are in life by stabbing random people with knives.”

This made Flynn laugh, but it wasn’t so much amusement as discomfort.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “Do you want me to smother you while you sleep or something?”

“No nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking about what you asked me earlier, about how fair it was that I ask you so many questions and expect honest answers without giving any in return. I have come to the conclusion that you are right.”

Flynn was so shocked he turned to look straight at him.

“I… You think I’m _right_?”

Mathias, who looked somewhat troubled to admit it, shuffled further down the bed and propped himself up on one elbow, on his side.

“I do. I think it’s not very fair to expect you to trust me when I refuse to trust you - at least so far as it pertains to this case. And besides. I think, based on what I’ve seen so far, you and I… you and I are on the same side.”

_On the same side?_

It seemed like an odd thing to say. Flynn didn’t think too hard about it. He crinkled his nose, trying to figure out if he thought Mathias had the right idea. 

“I like to think of myself as not usually picking sides.” He mused aloud. “Think of me as more of a neutral party? I’ve been known to affiliate with both.”

Flynn was suddenly painfully conscious of all those things he had neglected to mention. The omitted details. The creative manipulation of reality...

What Mathias didn’t know _surely_ wouldn’t hurt him?

“Ok. But with me in this instance. Are you willing to collaborate?”

“I mean yeah. I’m still here with you right now, aren’t I? I haven’t tried to leg it, and as far as we can both tell, you’re still alive?”

“I am.” Mathias’s expression seemed unusually warm. Still wary, even with his lips curved, but also slightly vulnerable and very, very compelling. “and I am glad. Even if it means I have to share a bed with you again tonight.”

“Aye that’s rich. I can’t believe no one has ever told you that you snore like that. I haven’t heard someone sleep that loudly in my life.”

Mathias gave him a light punch on his thigh.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying! You need to change the name on that dog tag to say ‘Mathias Snore’.”

“Ok I take it back.” The other man let himself flop backwards, against the mattress, to stare at the ceiling. Flynn found he actually missed the heat of his eyes on his face. “I think I will kill you after all.”

“Oh good.” He remarked, shuffling just a tiny bit closer, to be next to him. The weight on the bed at his side was unexpectedly comfortable. Welcome. “At least now I know I can have a quiet night. Have you given any thought on what movie you might want to see, by the by? I have a suggestion I’d like to make, and I will give you one hint: it has Pierce Brosnan in it.”


	5. INTERLUDE: TAELIA ~ Eighteen Months Earlier

Taelia Fordragon sat at the desk in her office, and nursed a cup of cinnamon hot cocoa. The office was small, but cosy – by far the best office she had had so far – and it was filled with files and books and her collection of mugs, and she appreciated the view from the window. It really wasn’t so terrible, considering how cheap it was, and it had a very good internet connection included in the rent.

In spite of all of this, Taelia was restless. Sighing, she set down her drink atop a stack of photocopies, and pulled her laptop towards her. The case she was working at the moment was fairly straight forward, or at least she had thought as much when she had agreed to take it on, but it was a _lot_ of legwork and all of it was dry.

That was the thing about doing jobs for corporations, instead of estranged kids and cheating spouses. They paid much better, by all accounts, but the intrigue in the cases was just… lacking. Not that Taelia went into this work because she was nosey or anything! She had just always had a knack for deduction, and training as a PI in the wake of a journalism degree sounded so much better to her than joining the military, despite what Cyrus had to say on the topic.

Cyrus was the one who had gotten her this job, actually – a longtime friend of the Proudmoore family, her mentor had directed them to her when they had first begun to notice discrepancies in their records. The Proudmoore’s were a family embroiled in industry, owning controlling shares in a number of production companies across Canada and the United States. The shipping branch of their operation was done through collaboration with an outfit known as Ashvane Trading company… a relatively normal looking organization, except for all the suspicious activity in their logs and accounting books. Taelia was not business minded, and her knowledge of the bookkeeping and record management was limited to the knowledge she needed to spot a fake document when required. Expert consultation, however, had indicated that somewhere in Ashvane company, someone was redirecting funds and stock for as yet unrevealed purposes. To her, the account records looked perfectly checked and balanced, but the red pen scratched on the pages by an informant made her eyes sore.

 _What are they up to_? She pondered, lifting the manilla folder with copies of employment records off the top of the pile on her desk.

So far, all that Taelia knew was that at some time in the last year, ATV had abandoned normalcy in their work with the Proudmoore family. Shipments had going missing, cheques weren’t balancing, and the more she looked into it the more obvious it became that there were in fact a number of other things wrong with the Ashvane company, besides. They were moving around a lot lately, relocating and closing down branches in New York. They were pulling out of and terminating profitable contracts, leaving a huge number of companies nationwide in the lurch. Yes, the deeper she pried, the clearer she could see that something was definitely awry. She just didn’t know _why._

Frustrated with the loose paper fluttering out of the folder, Taelia clucked and dropped the hard copies back down on the pile. She dug around by her memo block and pencil holder, to locate the USB disk containing data she had pilfered from the Ashvane servers not two nights previously. As a professional, Taelia had _definitely_ not accessed the online company database illegally with the help of some gifted tech friends, and if (hypothetically) she had she would _definitely_ not be writing as much in the report she would send to the Proudmoore matriarch once the case was completed. As a professional, though, she also knew that there were some things that just needed to be done on certain cases to ensure things kept going, and if a USB loaded with all the sensitive and vital information about the company just happened to appear on her desk one afternoon?

She wasn’t going to complain about it.

She plugged the USB into her laptop, and without much in the way of a direction she started searching idly through the files.

Her first thought was that the directory labeled “UPPER MANAGEMENT – SHIPPING AND LOGISTICS” seemed vaguely interesting. Though her heart sunk as she realized that if self-presenting evidence didn’t arise soon, she would need to start pursuing individual leads and researching some of these exact higher-up employees one by one. The scope of such a task seemed daunting, and she was glad she wouldn’t be the one footing the bill for her legwork. Unfortunately, she would still be the one who needed to do it.

The employee files on the USB included not only personal information, but headshots of the people involved, which she thought made things a little more interesting at least. It helped, to have a face to attach to the names and deeds of a band of otherwise ordinary people. Taelia did assume most of these people were probably normal… she thought it unlikely that any single employee had that much sway over the owners and CEOs, even if they may have had some partial knowledge of the goings on. Many of them were likely completely innocuous, minding their business and working for their income, but of course there was _also_ the possibility that one or two of them may not be. Trying to spot the wicked one in a sea of regular people? That was the tricky part.

It was this trail of thought Taelia followed, as she flicked through pictures and names, not registering anything unusual right up until the second she _did_ and she had to backtrack to the record that caught her attention. At first, Taelia had thought she had been imagining things - the name on the file hadn’t jumped out at her, and sure enough it was only by the face that she was able to register anything was strange. The picture was of a good-looking man, notable for being at least twenty years younger than the most of the other staff. His record stated he was ‘Captain Finbar Clearwater, managing shipping and transport fleet B’. It was a title that sounded important, but was also suspiciously vague, and Taelia wondered what specifically a role like that entailed.

“No way,” Taelia squinted at the screen, taking in the man’s features, trying to recall if she recognized the layout of his freckles. it _had_ been a while, but god… Taelia thought she would recognize that face anywhere. The grey blue eyes. The dark auburn hair. The name was wrong, but that was to be expected from someone like him. Someone who despite his rather… roguish tendencies, Taelia had loved like a brother. They had grown up together, after all, but she hadn’t heard from in oh…. Maybe ten years now? One day, he had simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

Taelia had just assumed he got murdered by competitors in his field, or something. Or maybe that he had just ran off somewhere and forgotten to call.

There was a contact number listed on the file.

Taelia laughed to herself, investigation forgotten for a moment, and motivated purely by her own excitement to learn he was in fact _not_ dead she thrust out her hand to lift the phone from the cradle on the desk. The old phone was clunky, but she liked using it – it made her feel very fancy. Professional.

She wasted no time calling him there and then, and when she only got through to voicemail she left a message.


	6. SUBJECT: Need backup urgently, reply ASAP or disciplinary action will be taken.

_R,_

_Unfortunately, the facts reguarding the ATC matter are quickly becoming less and less transparent._

_A drive past the former company headquarters produced nothing but some photographs of an empty building, and the local denizens seem to be under the impression that ATC had in fact pulled out of the local area to relocate operations to Chicago more than three months ago. This is an interesting tidbit, as our dear Jack Sparrow has suggested similar rumors of relocation to this town have circulated in Chicago region for the past few months. Which is the truth? Both? Neither? I suspect someone cloistered in the London office would be better suited to follow up on this than I am right now, as my access to the internet (let alone the SI:7 database system) is currently limited by the bed and breakfast data limit. As it stands though, my primary collaborator would rather eat meatballs on the Tiber River than do his job that he’s paid for, so I suppose I am out of luck. _

_At least dear Jack can commit to seeing a case through._

_Speaking of Jack, the fellow has proven surprisingly co-operative, though I worry that the exhaustion of pursuing this investigation has skewed my judgement somewhat. There is still no further insight into the veracity of his claims concerning his role and purpose in ATC, but as the days pass he is expressing a greater familiarity with me – something which I find both advantageous, and unsettling. Once again, I must reiterate my regret that I have been unable to have a colleague on this case, to ensure I remain undistracted from the task at hand. I feel a strange compulsion to depend on him instead, as I proceed in the investigation, in spite of knowing that it may jeapordise everything we are working for. Confidentially, I am beginning to feel empathy for those agents who I may have fired for pursuing their leads in a manner most unprofessional. I am feeling less empathy for you, since I am thinking about writing a personal letter to request the White Pawn dismiss you from your role if you if you don’t reply to me immediately. It is the least you could do, considering._

_Jack and I stumbled upon a new location of interest today, which is fortunate considering the location I had originally intended to investigate proved to be a bust. However, it is heavily surveilled and without further resources I suspect I am unable to successfully break and enter. Contained within the location is an unexplored hatch, which I am ashamed to admit I passed the opportunity to investigate a few days ago. I have need of a second opinion on how to proceed here – I don’t want to have to return home and leave these leads unresolved, but nor do feel as though I can continue as things stand. I realise it is uncharacteristic of me to not know where to go next, yet here I am out of my depth in a way I haven’t been in a long, long time._

_The truth is, R, I am afraid. I am afraid that if the White Pawn finds out about how poorly this whole project has gone, he will suggest I take some sort of *annual leave* again, or worse that I be transferred from intelligence to pen pushing in some significantly less impactful department ASAP. God help me if I find myself coordinating hand shaking hands ceremonies with the plutocracy – I think if I was asked to don Full Dress again ever in my life, I might have to retire immediately._

_I do apologise, for hanging up on you yesterday, by the way. I trust that as my friend you will refrain from telling anyone about it._

_M_

_P.S. I am joking about asking for your dismissal. Mostly. Please do reply, regardless._


	7. PART TWO: DIVISION ~ CHAPTER FIVE: MATHIAS

Mathias woke a few times in the night, but surprisingly he did not have any trouble falling back asleep. When he found himself rousing, his disjointed dreams giving way to the soft sound of another person breathing behind him in bed, it was with a sense of security and contentment rather than fear. The blankets on his chest were heavy and warm, and when he rolled over he noticed that the mattress sloped slightly towards Flynn’s body. As big as he was, it made sense he would be heavy. Through his drowsiness, Mathias thought it was strange how the man could be endering even when unconscious, before returning to dreamless oblivion. 

He woke once more as dawn was breaking, because beneath him the bedsprings had groaned like a put-upon friend, and someone (it didn’t take him long to work out who) had hauled the blankets off him as they rolled over.

“Flynn,” he whispered, voice rough with sleep. “do you _mind_? I’m cold over here.”

Flynn most certainly did not mind even a little; in the silver dawnlight beginning to filter in from below the curtains, Mathias could see he was still deeply unconscious. His hair fanned over his face like ripples of silk, and his expression was completely unguarded. Mathias felt his heart twinge in his chest.

It was regrettable, that he had found himself charmed so easily. Usually, Mathias was not the type to be taken in by a pretty face, in fact most often he took steps to ensure against it, but Flynn really had done a number on him when he had least expected it. His roguish grin had just _gotten_ him, snaring his attention when his guard was down and he had not yet had enough coffee to think with his entire brain. The reckless enthusiasm he displayed when confronted with pancakes was so alien that Mathias had almost ached with envy, because he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that excited for anything. To top it all off, the pressure of his broad hands gripping Mathias’ waist in the IHOP carpark had reminded him that he hadn’t known the touch of another human being in _years_ now. He had always been too busy for anything like that – his job had filled his days like dirt fills the cracks in old pavement, obscuring the history that shaped the road beneath. Mathias hadn’t even _thought_ of company for such a long time, that a part of him had thought he had forgotten how.

He supposed it just made sense that at a time where his grip on the job that had been his life was slipping, he would scramble to seize on to anything else he could with a shameful honesty. He didn’t like it, (who would?) but he found himself completely powerless to resist. There was a certain euphoria about it, anyway. A hopefulness that rose in him when he felt Flynn’s shoulder brush against his own, unguarded.

 _Maybe the two of us could start over,_ he thought. _“Pleased to meet you, Captain Fairwind. My name is Mathias Shaw and I was wondering if you might like to go get coffee, sometime?”_

Mathias sighed, trying to shuffle closer to Flynn and reclaim at least one edge of the blanket. His thoughts touched on how badly everything seemed to have gone wrong in the last few days – about how his attention had been elsewhere, how his patience was frayed, and how his reasoning had somehow convinced him that he needed to be here in bed with this handsome stranger right now when in fact he knew that he didn’t _need_ to be in this situation at all. He could have just let Flynn go, after all. Or he could have just left him in that closet. Alternatively, Mathias could have just admitted the whole thing was too fucked up for his tiny little outfit to pursue on the budget they had been given, and go back to London, and let the uncrowned sort it out. But no, his heart and his pride had prevented that, and now he was stuck between professionalism and a burgeoning desire to close the gap between himself and the man lying next to him, in the way so many of his agents did with pretty targets in the field.

They even had a name for it.

_A body count._

Mathias had always been proud to say his was zero, at least in this area. He could keep it at that, and he knew he _should._ Maybe he would even be able to, if he continued acting normal and hardened himself against Flynn’s wiles for the remainder of the case.

Even as he wanted to, it was not so easy to do, when Flynn sighed and cracked his eyes open to reguard him blearily.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Hey.”

“Not warm enough huh?”

His lips twitched visibly at the corners and he closed his eyes again. Mathias huffed and yanked some of the blankets back over himself, but Flynn was already back asleep. Or at least, he thought he was asleep. Mathias jumped a little when a thick arm shifted to curl around him, and dragged him close like a pillow a lonely man might embrace on a cold, rainy night.

Not that Mathias was pulling that comparison from experience, or anything.

Unsure what to do with himself, Mathias lay there rigid under the weight of Flynn’s arm. His smell was overpowering – a deep, heady scent like oceans and rich drinks and warm sand on tanned skin. His hair felt like satin against Mathias’ cheek. Mathias knew he _really_ did not want to extract himself.

Instead, after a moments deliberation, he decided he would just give into it. He sunk into the embrace, letting his eyes drop close so he could remember the way Flynn looked when he smiled. The way he ran his fingers through his ponytail when he was thinking particularly hard. Mathias even let himself wonder what it would be like to feel Flynn stirring again against him again, pulling him close and sliding his hands to Mathias’ waist. The way in which he would squeeze his ass and push a soft, sweet kiss against his lips. Mathias felt himself melt just contemplating it…

He felt like he didn’t have long enough to savour the experience. The sun rose far too quickly and Flynn, it seemed, liked to rise with it. Mathias would have guessed it was less than half an hour later that Flynn woke properly, startling when he realized the pair of them were locked together, and pulled his arm away like he had been touching something hot.

“Mat?” he whispered, sounding more than a little embarrassed about the situation, but not half as embarrassed as Mathias would be if Flynn found out he was awake. He remained where he was, eyes still closed, waiting for him to conclude that Mathias was sleeping and he should leave so he could pretend to wake up in privacy. After a few moments that seemed to drag on forever, Flynn sighed, and pulled himself out of bed. He padded to the ensuite, and when he closed the door Mathias exhaled a deep breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

He was up and dressed and opening his laptop when Flynn re-emerged, and the other man gave him a quizzical kind of look but rather than say anything, he asked a relatively unnecessary question.

“I’m gonna take a shower, if that’s okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Mathias refused to pull his eyes away from the laptop booting screen. He could see Flynn hovering in the door of the ensuite from the corner of his eye.

“Just checkin’,” Flynn told him, and with that, he thought they established very clearly that they would not be talking about it. Not yet. Mathias needed a little more time to adjust and Flynn…

Well, Mathias wasn’t entirely sure yet, if his feelings were even reciprocated. There had been moments he almost _thought_ Flynn was receptive – he was a convivial kind of person but even so the number of times Flynn touched him was… suggestive. It had occurred to Mathias that perhaps he really was just clueless, but Mathias was very good at acquiring information. He swore to himself that he was going to use every tool in his arsenal to find out.

…

The reply from Renzik had not yet arrived. Mathias only felt slightly disappointed by this. On the one hand, it meant he didn’t have anything much in the way of things to do today, thereby setting progress back even further. On the other, it meant he could focus more of his time and attention on…

Well.

After shutting down his laptop and dressing himself in another of Tess’ outfits, he decided he needed something caffeinated first, least he find himself falling straight back to sleep.

“I need a coffee,” He told his companion, as he shuffled out of the bathroom freshly showered. “From somewhere that isn’t a fast-food restaurant.”

“I’m sure the bed and breakfast lady would make you one if you asked nicely?”

Flynn set his towel down and began rummaging through his duffel, looking somewhat troubled by what he found (or had not found) contained therein. Mathias had a suspicion what he was looking for, since he had left the bathroom with his hair loose and dripping down his back, and then quite suddenly he realized with a flutter that Flynn’s wet hair was dripping down his _back._ His naked back. He had left the bathroom clad only in the slightly too short trackpants the Uncrowned had provided him, and Mathias was seeing the scars that marred his shoulders and one side of his torso for the first time ever. He wore large and intricate tattoos across his arms and chest.

_Oh no. He’s so fucking attractive._

“Did Tess pack you a comb or something?” Flynn asked, jolting Mathias out of his distraction. “it’s been three days since I brushed my hair properly, and the fingers aren’t cutting it anymore.”

“No need to cut anything,”

Mathias replied far too quickly, face alight with embarrassment. With fumbling hands he conjured the small compact comb he carried out of his grooming kit, and offered it despite knowing it was much too small to serve the purpose. It was barely big enough to smooth his own tidy crop of ginger hair.

“This is all I have. But we can get a proper one from a pharmacy or something while we’re out.”

Flynn gave him a suspicious look.

“… Thanks.”

He nipped the comb from Mathias’ fingers and flicked it open to inspect it. “but yeah. I’m gonna need something bigger to deal with this.”

Mathias made a dismissive gesture with his hand. He turned his pink face down to reguard his empty email inbox, and pretended not to notice Flynn watching him like he might do something interesting, if he stared long enough.

“Fine, please yourself. But I’m not asking the bed and breakfast women for coffee. You can take us somewhere like a café, right?”

“Probably?” Flynn handed the comb back. Mathias could see him in his peripheral as he took it, scooping his wet hair up into a twist atop his head and securing it with a band from around his wrist. “but there’s not really many good places around here. Warning you now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mathias turned his back to him, unable to watch him pull a shirt on over his head let alone switch out his pants for something more suitable to wear in public. “Renzik has ignored my email, so I am at a loss for how I’m supposed to proceed right now. Maybe I will have a better head on after breakfast.”

“Whatever you say, _boss_.”

Cheeky bastard.

Mathias snatched the car keys up off the desk, and tossed them pevishly over his shoulder. Flynn laughed, and the jingle of the keyring told Mathias he had caught them with no effort.

“Well now I have these,” he teased, “I guess I’m driving.”

Mathias wished he had thrown his laptop instead.

…

The café Flynn took him too was barely better than a fast-food restaurant, but at least their coffee was made fresh by a person and not an automated machine. Mathias needed this human touch when he made his order – Flynn’s driving had aged him at least ten years in the space of half an hour. Flynn ordered tea and a full breakfast, and Mathias went with coffee and fruit salad. The pair of them managed to find a seat by the window. It wasn’t as private as their booth at IHOP had been, because the café was busy and the tables were close to one another, but there was a distinct anonymity about it that Mathias appreciated. no one paid them any attention, too busy meeting friends or minding children or typing away on their homework on lightweight laptops. When was the last time Mathias sat down and had something to drink at a nice café, surrounded by civilians? Had he _ever_?

He thought the atmosphere was kind of nice. Though he would never admit it.

“It’s not exactly fancy,” Flynn told him.

“It’s not terrible,” Mathias said, thinking it was all very run-of-the-mill, really. It gave off the same kind of vibe as a café in a TV series from the 1990s, and possibly may not have been renovated since then, either. “As long as the food is better than pancakes.”

“I happen to like pancakes.”

“And you are a man of good taste?”

“In some areas.” Flynn grinned at him, and Mathias’ heart did an odd thing inside his chest. Not a _bad_ thing, but an odd one.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” He grumbled, turning away to watch the girl behind the counter prepare his coffee. Flynn laughed lightly, and changed the subject.

“So, what will happen if you don’t hear back from your little buddy? You gonna let me go and head back to England?”

“I suppose so,” Mathias answered, feeling a twinge at the thought that he might have to part ways with Flynn sooner than he had meant to. “I can’t just abandon this case for good, but I also can’t imagine they will let me bring you with me.”

“And what good might that do if you could?”

“Well, it would ensure you don’t disappear on me if I need to talk to you again. About the case, I mean.”

“Of course.”

The chair Flynn was sitting in creaked under his weight as he leaned back in it, and Mathias recalled how large he had looked shirtless, with rivulets of water trickling across his skin. No wonder he had felt so warm and heavy in bed.

Oh no. Don’t think about that.

Mathias was glad when their food and drinks arrived, and distracted him from that line of thought.

“It’s unlike Renzik to be slow to respond,” He said, nodding his thanks to the waitress who gave him a terse smile in response. “especially on a matter so important.”

“Didn’t you say he was on holiday?” Flynn lifted the lid of the small teapot he had been presented with, peeking at the leaves brewing inside. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“People in our line of work don’t get holidays,” Mathias told him.

“People in the general sense? Or people as in you?”

Flynn’s eyebrows crept up his forehead as he replaced the teapot lid, and Mathias felt himself flush at the precision of the question. Was he being rude and obstinate, or had he managed to somehow deduce something that Mathias hadn’t wanted to divulge? He wanted to think that couldn’t possibly be the case, Flynn wasn’t that clever, but then again…

 _No,_ Mathias told himself. _He’s just a regular guy. That’s probably why you like him so much. He is pretty to look at and his head is empty, and you are completely, utterly vulnerable right now jesus christ how dare he look that good first thing in the morning..._

A scary prospect.

Mathias took a mouthful of his coffee before he let the idea get away with him. It was still slightly too hot.

“ _People_ in our line of work rarely take holidays.” he reiterated. “Even if we travel for a job, we are always on call.”

“So, it really is nothing like the movies then? The seduction and globetrotting and all that?”

“I told you it wasn’t.” He paused for a moment, gazing into his bowl of fruit salad. “But what about it? Surely the ship's captain is well traveled enough too? I hear sailors know how to have a good time.”

“Not even a little,” Flynn laughed. “Ive been at sea plenty, but outside of Canada I’ve never set foot on foreign soil.”

“Hm.” Mathias’s brow furrowed. “That’s unexpected.”

Flynn shrugged easily, and picked up his fork so he could begin his journey through the veritable mountain of breakfast that had been set in front of him.

“The idea of travel and adventure does appeal to me though. I always did want to go to England. Australia maybe. Around the Mediterranean.”

“England is ok,” Mathias told him. “Australia is too hot. Mediterranean is also hot, but in a different way. Russia is cold though. So is Finland. If you like the cold then those are the places you want to go.”

“Hm,” Flynn seemed engaged with what he was saying, even chewing on a mouthful of eggs. “well, what place is your _favourite._ Like... where would you recommend? Preferably somewhere that’s not too buddy-buddy with the US government.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, lets’ say in this scenario I have come into a large sum of money, and am trying to avoid being investigated by the CIA.”

Mathias almost rolled his eyes. “Captain Flynn, it’s bizarre how you think you’re funny. That said, I don’t know anywhere that fits that description. Most of the places I’ve been aren’t that special, and I don’t have a favourite, per say.”

He paused for a moment, pondering, trying to think of somewhere he had been or something he had seen that stirred any emotion besides the dull recognition that he had a duty to perform. Probably his favourite hotel he had stayed at was in Oslo – they had very nice sheets, and had provided personalised robes for guests to take with them when they went home. Mathias still kept his hanging on the back of the door in his bathroom.

“I suppose Norway is nice.”

Flynn’s brow furrowed, betraying a tiny flicker of emotion that _almost_ looked like pity.

“Does it bother you, that you’ve been all over the world and haven’t enjoyed the experience even once?”

This time, it was Mathias’ turn to shrug.

“Not really,” He said. “I don’t think about it.”

And the two of the lapsed into silence, for a while.

…

With coffee drunk, and a new hairbrush acquired, the pair of them soon found themselves fresh out of activities. Consequentually, Flynn suggested they stop by the plant convention and have a look around.

“I like plants well enough,” he told Mathias cheerfully, as they drove through the town towards the venue. “I used to do a little bit of horticulture myself.”

“Horticulture?”

“Like, growing them?”

“I know what horticulture means!” Mathias flushed as the car drew into the carpark at the District Hall Centre, which was already nearly at capacity. “I was just surprised, is all.”

“I’m full of surprises, Mat. I know you think I’m thick or something, but I can guarantee you I know far more than you _ever_ will about a few things.”

“Likely things I have exactly zero interest in.”

Mathias wasn’t really listening. His attention was drawn by the sudden evacuation of a park very near the entrance to the hall. The space was narrow, between a large jeep and an old pickup truck, but he thought their vehicle should be able to fit.

“Look,” he pointed, “there’s an ideal spot for you there. It looks a little tight, but you can definitely slide in if you’re smart about it.”

This made Flynn laugh heartily, his newly brushed hair swaying over his shoulder and tickling the edges of his face.

“Nice phrasing,” he said, leaning onto the steering wheel to turn the car. Mathias stared at him, unable to parse his meaning, but sure enough he managed to get the accord to slot tidily into the space he had identified and so, he decided he would let it go.

The venue was too small for a convention, and so in many ways it felt less like a thriving event, and more like a rummage sale with plants instead of knickknacks. The doors had only just opened when they arrived, and there was a surprising amount of people milling about. Mathias felt most peculiar walking around with no particular goal or direction. He didn’t have a history of such egregious spontaneity, and an unfamiliar awkwardness came over him when he greeted the ticket lady in the booth by the entrance. He handed over a five dollar note, in exchange for his and Flynn’s concession, coupled with a decidedly un-suave greeting. He could see by the look on Flynn’s face that he had noticed, and something about the situation amused him greatly.

“What?” he asked his companion, as they shuffled inside.

“Nothing,” Flynn told him, not even slightly innocently. He knocked their shoulders together, his swagger slightly more exaggerated than usual as they edged through a throng of people towards the main exhibition room. The atmosphere was lively, the space cluttered with strangers who carried Styrofoam coffee cups and bags of dirt. Some people even had name tags on lanyards swinging from their neck. Mathias’ hand grasped at his dogtag, his fingers curling around it in a white knuckled grip, without him even noticing he was doing it.

It was honestly a little bit humiliating, how daunting this whole expedition was beginning to feel.

Mathias plain just wasn’t _used_ to walking around aimlessly. As a rule, he liked to analyse and plan every significant decision and move he ever made, and it had been many, _many_ years since everything about his plan was so completely up in the air. He needed Renzik’s advice on how to proceed, that was for sure, but as time ticked on and he still didn’t receive any new email notifications on his watch, the more a _very_ unwelcome possibility began to emerge in his mind.

Mathias Shaw may have reached a point where he had to make a phone call to _him._

It wasn’t that the White Pawn was a particularly imposing figurehead. In fact, in some ways, it was more because he wasn’t. Sometimes Mathias got the feeling that the boy didn’t really even _want_ to be in the family business of string pulling and shoulder rubbing in exchange for political power. He had definitely made it clear many times over, that Mathias was free to leave his post any time and receive a lifetime stipend in thanks for his service, but as this stroll through a packed convention was only emphasizing - Mathias simply couldn’t resign. If he did, he wasn’t sure what he would even begin to do with himself. He _liked_ feeling like he was contributing towards something positive in the world, using the resources available to him, and the noble blooodline to which he was contracted had ultimately served humanity so justly over the decades that Mathias was almost proud to say he had been their most valuable asset.

He worried if he messaged the boy now, to say that he was encountering issues on this latest venture, it would invite another round of discussion about whether or not SI:7 even had any value anymore. Worse, it might result in The Pawn telling him he was too old to be gallivanting around like this doing busywork again.

That was what he had called this investigation into a potential global terrorist organization.

Busywork.

The child just didn’t understand.

“Alright, Mat?”

Flynn jostled him, yanking him from his thoughts and dropping him straight back into reality. “You look a little out of it, and I’ve been asking you if you prefer to look at orchids or cacti for two minutes.”

“Oh,” Mathias frowned, regathering his thoughts. “Sorry. Uh, let’s go with cacti.”

“Prickles. That makes sense.”

Flynn guided them towards the succulent and cactus themed corner of the hall, and Mathias tried _very_ hard to remain focused on what was happening around him even though he was discovering that he actually found plants profoundly boring. He was able to keep his mind occupied, and away from the nervous, worrisome thoughts, once he switched to observing the people milling around him instead. After a quick once over, Mathias would attempt to guess what kind of person they were, and what had brought them to this event, and he noted that there was an unusual amount of tall men in grey suits at the plant convention. Mathias assumed it was probably just had something to do with event coordination.

He was enjoying his little game well enough, pausing occasionally to listen to what Flynn had to say about a particular plant he liked, but as time passed he began to play his game less and less because Flynn was talking to him more and more, with an increasing degree of animation. He seemed to be rather enjoying himself, and this time Mathias didn’t even try to resist the thought that it was delightful.

“I got into sailing because I began to ship plants,” He mentioned off-hand, while they stood in the middle of a ceramic glazed pot display and studied a $300 trough. “We would use troughs like this with removeable bottoms, and keep our real cargo hidden under a massive number of tomato saplings.”

“What was the real cargo?” Mathias asked, a single brow arching in curiosity. Flynn shrugged.

“Illicit substances mostly.” He paused for a moment, as though waiting to gauge Mathias’ response. When it didn’t come immediately, he stumbled through a short explanation.

“I did work where I could, when I was younger, and I didn’t ask questions. I think most of the people I worked with would say I was good at it, since I never learned many skills that were good for legal work, you know?”

He gave Mathias a small smile, and Mathias had a startling realization that added weight to his theory that perhaps Flynn _was_ somewhat interested in him. Or at least, was thinking about being interested in him…

_He’s nervous about what I think about that._

Admittedly, many people might have faltered to learn a potential romantic entanglement had been embroiled in illegal activities. Mathias, however, barely even registered that this thing he had confessed to was against the law. He had done much worse things besides.

“I was a professional assassin,” Mathias confessed, before it occurred to him that this was potentially compromising information. “I can’t judge you even a little, considering I was a military murderer for hire.”

Flynn stared at him dumbfounded, as though he had grown an extra arm out of his neck.

“… You’re kidding, right?” he asked. Mathias shook his head.

“Why would I joke about something like that?”

Mathias didn’t like to remember his stint in the military. It was a job he had taken to spite his grandmother, who had trained him from childhood to take over her role intelligence leader for the family Mathias still worked for. Mathias had been a good assassin, too, at least until the burden of blood had become too heavy on his hands. He could just explain all of this to Flynn to assuage his astonishment, but he wasn’t able to gauge if that would add anything meaningful to the conversation.

Flynn blinked, drinking in Mathias’s profile as though he was seeing him for the first time. The planters and terrariums around them suddenly must have seemed completely uninteresting.

“Well now selling weed and ecstasy feels like small fish,” he said lamely. “I was _definitely_ joking when I said I thought you killed people, you know.”

“I don’t kill people anymore,” Mathias told him. “Now I work in intelligence, as I said. My hands are clean, mostly.”

“ _Mostly_?” Flynn’s eyebrows flew up his face. “What do you mean ‘mostly’?! You’re not gonna kill me too, are you? I’m asking for real this time.”

Mathias scoffed at this.

“Of course not. I like you.”

It came out of his mouth before he could stop it. Flynn stared at him again, a rather interesting shift from when they first met and he had refused to hold any kind of eye contact, except now his stare was not so much gobsmacked as pleasantly incredulous.

“You _like_ me?” he asked.

Mathias huffed and turned his face away. He hoped Flynn couldn’t see the pinkness in his cheeks, but knew this was a foolish wish since his embarrassment could have probably been seen from space.

“So what if I do? It’s none of your business. Now tell me more about these planters.”

With a light chuckle, Flynn hooked his bangs back behind his ear, and Mathias could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice as he did exactly that.

…

Mathias should have seen it coming, but it still startled him when, as they walked past the potted Yucca display, He felt Flynn’s fingers curl into his palm and take his hand gently into his own.

“Hey,” he said, snapping his head around to look at Flynn but not pulling his hand away.

“Hey, what?”

“What are you doing?!”

Mathias felt like every pair of eyes in the hall was fixed on them, and their fingers laced together, even though he could see for himself that no one was. Flynn shrugged.

“We’re pretending to be married, remember? This is what newlyweds do! Holding hands etcetera. Haven’t you ever been a newlywed?”

“Have _you?_ ”

Flynn winked at him, and squeezed his hand tighter.

“Is a man not allowed to make mistakes in his life?”

“Maybe a man like you.”

“A man like me? Jesus Mat, you’re a cold ass. A man like me…”

He leaned in closer, Mathias could smell the scent of the vetiver soap the bed and breakfast people had left in their ensuite wafting off his skin. He hadn’t cared for the scent, when he had showered earlier, finding it much too green for his tastes, but mixed with Flynn’s sweat it smelled delicious. Before Mathias could stop him, Flynn leaned in close and brushed a light kiss against the side of his cheek.

“At least a man like me is brave enough to commit to the part.”

The place Flynn had kissed him seemed to burn with heat – in a moment shorter than half a second, Flynn had managed to raise his pulse and bring a furious weakness to his knees. It had to be furious, didn’t it? What else could it be? That had been possibly the most _mortifying_ thing he had ever had happen to him on the job, and if they hadn’t been in a convention surrounded by plant enthusiasts, he might have turned around and rendered the man unconscious for it. Flynn’s grin broadened, and he stopped walking in front of a table of Ficus plants, some of which looked sad and limp as though they hadn’t been watered in some time. This would have registered to Mathias as suspicious, for a plant convention, if he hadn’t been so distracted.

“I’ll be honest, Mat. I thought you might clock me for that one. I’m impressed with your restraint.”

“I still might.”

Flynn screwed up his nose, and gestured to the table of Ficuses.

“Speaking of commitment to the part,” he said, “I noticed our room was looking a little boring yesterday. What’s a romantic getaway if we don’t buy a couple oif things to commemorate?”

Mathias glared at him, Flynn stared back, and their eye contact went on for so long that for a moment, he thought he would _really_ draw attention to them and lean in to kiss the fucking idiot on the mouth.

He was literally seconds away from doing so, when a loud grumbling sound shattered the tension between them.

Flynn’s stomach. Clearly indifferent to the magnetism the two of them were trying to negotiate.

Apparently, a tremendous breakfast hadn’t been enough.


	8. PART TWO: DIVISION ~ CHAPTER SIX: FLYNN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out writing multi-chapter fics is fucking difficult? like i cant remember what happened or how to write consistent characterisation and thats a pretty large problem. anYWAY... here u go

They went somewhere nicer than IHOP for dinner, a small family-style restaurant that was just a little bit short of fancy. Anywhere too high-brow, Flynn reasoned, and they might not let his Ficus have its own seat at the table. Mathias ordered orange juice with his steak and chips, and Flynn had a beer and the largest plate of spaghetti they had on the menu. He had intentions to order banoffee pie as well, for dessert, and he was thankful that Mathias seemed to have cards stacked with unlimited credit. He hadn’t eaten nearly this well in _years._

He wondered briefly if what Mathias had said about intelligence being an underfunded field was really true, or if it simply paid less than being a contract murderer. As he ate, he reflected on questions like ‘how much does one get paid to kill a guy, anyway?’ with what might have been an alarming degree of dissociation, numbed by the fact that he had eaten dinner with murderers and criminals plenty of times before. By all accounts, none of the other murders he had dined with were nearly as well-spoken and handsome as Mathias was, and none of them had ever been paid for their work. When Mathias sat with his hands clasped placidly around his steaming coffee cup, Flynn thought he looked very sophisticated. Dapper. Quite respectable. Not like the sort of man who had blood on his hands at all.

It was a dreadful shame, really, that he had _said_ he didn’t sleep with people on the job. Flynn had discounted the possibility of getting any action from him even back in Chicago, but circumstances had changed and now Flynn was thinking about all of the not-very-respectable things he would happily do to him, given the opportunity. Did that make Flynn a lecherous or sexually deviant person, for wanting to fuck a murderer?

Probably. He had slept with Harlan too, on more than one occasion.

“You know,” Mathias spoke, pulling him from his decidedly unpleasant memories. “I’ve never really done this kind of thing before. This sort of walking around and just looking at stuff. It feels a little idle, don’t you think?” he glanced to Flynn, a faint furrow between his brows, and Flynn shrugged.

“I dunno. Does it?”

Flynn had always rather liked a leisurely life, and indeed today he had enjoyed himself very much. He liked holding Mathias’ hand, he liked kissing his cheek just to watch him tense up and splutter awkwardly, and he liked how under the table, their ankles were notched together. When he rubbed his calve against Mathias’ he didn’t tell him to stop or kick him away. Flynn thought he would spend countless days doing nothing, if doing nothing involved more of this, but not wanting to come on too strong he settled for shooting his companion a warm smile. He liked the way Mathias’ pupils dilated, and his cheeks coloured ever-so-slightly, when he looked at him.

“Mmm… I don’t know.”

Something passed over his face, a half-formed thought that seized Flynn’s interest, but then was gone again in an instant. Flynn would have followed this odd little expression up with a question, but suddenly he found himself distracted by a silhouette of a person, spotted out of the corner of his eye.

A woman. Short and built with a neatly cropped bob. She was sitting by herself two tables over. She had tanned skin, a button nose, and a navy blue beret, and Flynn knew without even needing to hear her order that the beverage she was nursing in a large steaming mug was a hot cocoa with three fat marshmallows. She looked to be reading a newspaper, and circling items of interest with red pen.

“ _Taelia?!_ ”

Mathias jumped at his exclamation,

“What?”

Flynn ignored him, too overcome by excitement to remain in his chair. The legs of the thing scraped on the floor when Flynn stumbled to his feet, and poor Taelia didn’t even know have time to register what was going on before Flynn was dragging her out of her seat and pulling her into a crushing hug.

There had been an awful moment there, as he sat on the floor in a closet in a warehouse, where Flynn had thought he would never see her again.

The woman in his arms, perfectly reasonably given the circumstances, swore loudly and gave her best attempt at shoving him away. With years of ju-jitsu training under her belt, Flynn was lucky she didn’t break his arm on the spot, but once she extracted herself from his grip and recognized who it was who had blindsided her, she also exclaimed in excitement and leapt back into his embrace.

It was quite a spectacle, really. Flynn was vaguely aware of the fact that everyone in the restaurant must have been watching, _especially_ Mathias. He really didn’t mind all that much, far too lost in his relief and happiness to care, so long as no one tried to kick them out halfway through their reunion. Flynn had been kicked out of enough restaurants to know he didn’t like the experience very much.

It was Taelia who finally broke away first, parting from him with a broad grin on her face and standing on her toes, to kiss his cheek.

“Idiot,” She said, her voice giddy with excitement. “I thought you _died!_ Again! What the hell are you doing here, of all places?”

“I could ask the same of you!” Flynn told her with a laugh. “But since you asked, I’m not really here of my own volition. I’m here with…” he turned around to point to Mathias, who was still sitting at the table with the Ficus plant, and staring at the two of them like he had just been slapped around the face.

“Who? The one with the pot plant?” her eyes widened and swung to fix on Flynn’s face. “Who is that? Why are you having dinner together? Are you on a _date_?”

“Yes. No. It’s complicated?”

Flynn didn’t even know where to start. His thoughts were racing around his head like bees buzzing around an agitated hive. The only constant in his brain was her, the knowledge that she was still okay, that she knew _he_ was okay. That things were going to be alright because _Taelia was here and she would fix everything and things were going to be okay._

Taelia huffed, and smacked his arm sharply in admonishment.

“I thought you were _dead_ , and turns out you’re here on a date! I ought to hand you over to the fucking cops right this minute, Flynn.”

“I’m not on a date!” Flynn insisted, his voice drowned out by the chatter of the restaurant goers as they resumed eating their dinner as normal. “At least, I don’t think I’m on a date. Like I said, it’s _really_ complicated and a long story. We are absolutely going to have to catch up but y’know. Now we’re here, I just wanted to let you know I am still alive.”

“Uh, Flynn?”

Mathias appeared at his shoulder in the blink of an eye – it was uncanny how fast and silent he could be, but knowing what Flynn knew now he supposed it made sense. “What’s going on?”

_Do you know this person?_

He had a wary expression, a frown around his lips that betrayed distrust but also, bitterness. It occurred to Flynn that he might have been _jealous._ Imagine that. Flynn had never had someone feel jealous over him before. He felt his stomach flutter, and the urge to clarify what was going on here struck him as intensely as the urge to leap out of his seat and hug Taelia had struck him earlier.

“Yes! Everythingf ine, Mat. Look.” he reached for Mathias’ wrist and drew him closer. Taelia’s brows arched, and she looked between the two of them with shock in her eyes. “This is Taelia. She’s a friend of mine.”

“From where? You worked together for Ashvane?” his bright green eyes swung to fix on Taelia’s face with unrestrained venom. Flynn was very flattered, albeit embarrassed, by his attitude. Taelia seemed taken aback by the accusation, though.

“He told you about Ashvane?” she asked flatly, and Flynn suddenly had a _very_ grim realisation, that dropped into his guts like a rock dropped in the ocean.

Things might be about to unravel for him VERY quickly.

Now that Mathias and Taelia were face to face, he needed to do some damage control.

…

“Well, I just figured it would be wise for me to come here myself, since I hadn’t heard from you.” Taelia said, sitting at their table in the spot Flynn’s Ficus had been occupying half an hour earlier. “I got a tip there would be some major sales happening this weekend, and I needed something to distract me from… you know. Thinking you might have died.”

“What do you mean ‘major sales’?” Mathias asked – his animosity towards Taelia seemed to have decreased, since Flynn had clarified once again that she was just a friend, but he could tell he was still a little bit testy beneath the veneer of professionalism.

“Well, weapons deals of course. I checked the list of registered stallholders at the convention and all of them work for the ATC. I’m pretty sure the entire event is a front.”

“A front?!” Mathias seemed aghast to have not noticed this. Flynn himself was also somewhat disconcerted. He hadn’t recognized _anyone_ at the convention, and this fact turned his blood cold in his veins. How many people had spotted him, while he was there, and known his face immediately? Had Ashvane really replaced all their staff and management, in the short time since he had departed?

“Yes of course. And I’d bet my bottom dollar that AZSHARA is here too.”

Oh no.

Flynn spluttered, choked to tears on his small mouthful of tea.

“Azshara?” Mathias frowned, glancing to Flynn while he scrambled to mop up his spilled drink. Flynn’s entire skeleton felt like it might leap out of his hide in panic. Taelia wasn’t supposed to mention AZSHARA – when he had explained the situation that had brought him here to the two of them, he had made a very major point of not bringing it up.

“You don’t… know about AZSHARA?”

Flynn interjected with a loud cough, and slapped his hand firmly down on the table.

“Why would he know about that, Taelia? It’s not like its important.”

Tragically, Mathias was not that stupid. Flynn could see him file away that reaction for later pursuit, with the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. Perhaps Flynn should have been more pointed in trying to convey to Taelia with glances and word choice, the things that Mathias Shaw didn’t know.

God. Flynn probably should tell him though, eventually.

This prospect, however, made his guts turn to tar and nails. What had started as a logical little lie by omission suddenly felt like a rather major oversight, and upon looking back it was obvious that every instance where Mathias came close to the truth, Flynn had expended far too much effort to maintain a façade of ignorance. He couldn’t tell him now, could he? It was far too late for that. If Mathias found out now, then Flynn might find himself in deep shit or worse, his former captor (still captor, technically) might not like him anymore.

It was a grim reflection of his priorities, that Flynn couldn’t think of anything worse than that.

He told himself he needed to calm down and pull himself together. He forced a flippant grin onto his face, and pulled a casual little explanation out of his ass.

“Azshara is just one of the management departments at ATC,” he said, “Nothing important, no need to worry your pretty little head.”

“Funny,” Mathias said, and the way he was looking at Flynn now was _uncomfortably_ suspicious. _“_ You never mentioned knowing anything about management departments?”

“I swear I didn’t think to. As I said, they aren’t important.”

Taelia’s expression betrayed confusion, but Flynn could see her making a connection when she met his eye. Bless her. Flynn could have kissed her, if he didn’t think that would put him on even shakier ground with his companion.

“Azshara… is nothing major,” Taelia lied on his behalf, “I’ve just had a little trouble tracking them down.”

“Hm.” Mathias was regarding him with an unhappy look on his face, but rather than pursue it he looked to Taelia and folded his arms contemplatively across his chest. “So, forgive me for being critical about this, but Flynn never mentioned to me anything about his rendezvous in the Chicago warehouse being on _behalf_ of someone else.”

“That’s not true!” Flynn interjected. “I asked you heaps if I could call my friend, and you said no.”

“You never told me you were _working_ for this friend of yours.”

Taelia coughed awkwardly and shifted in her seat.

“Flynn is a bit of an airhead, Mister Shaw. I love him dearly, but it’s true. I would have been _very_ surprised if he did think to tell you, but with all that said he _does_ still technically work for me.”

Taelia paused for a moment, worrying her lip with her teeth, before continuing.

“Consequentially, I'd really appreciate it if I could have my employee back. You can head home and leave this investigation to us? Especially since you’re so concerned about your operations going so far off track.”

“Not a chance,” Mathias snapped, and he straightened himself in his seat in a way that made it clear he was offended she would even ask. “Flynn stays with me. I need his help, and I’m not going _anywhere_ until I get to the bottom of this. Also, I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t trust you. Not even a little. Him and I are going to be having a serious discussion about all this later, and if he can convince me nothing deviant is happening here _maybe_ I will call you when I’m done with him.”

This notion raised a lump of nervousness in Flynn’s throat. He remembered the band around his wrist, for the first time in ages, and he remembered the way Tess had looked at him as though she would dispose of him with less guilt than she would swatting a fly. Mathias had said they didn’t have enough money to kill him. Mathias had said he and Tess weren’t really working together. But for the first time since they had started warming to one another, the possibility that Mathias was hiding as much as he was, still, seemed real to him. Really real. Too real.

Taelia seemed equally offended by this response.

“Or what? Are you going to call the police on me if I take your hostage away from you?”

“He’s not a hostage.”

“Oh? then what is he then? You save his life and make him help with your weird little investigation for some cloak and dagger agency _I’ve_ never heard of as repayment. Sounds like a hostage situation if you ask me.”

“I’m not asking you!”

Mathias’ ears reddened as his temper flared. Flynn didn’t really like them arguing about him while he was sitting right there listening. He interjected.

“Okay! Okay, I’ve heard enough. Taelia, I’m not a hostage. Mat, I’m sorry I never mentioned I was working for a private detective. I think the _main_ thing we ought to be focusing right now is this tidbit about there being some kind of weapons trading happening under our noses?”

He was thinking fast, trying to envision a way to get out of this terrible little corner he was in in one piece. Both Taelia and Mathias were glaring at him, and if looks could kill as efficiently as daggers, Flynn would have been twice dead. It occurred to him that actually, talking about the weapons trading happening under their noses would only land him in even _more_ hot water.

Fuck.

He really was exceptional at making things worse for himself.

Taelia was the one who broke the silence first.

“You know what, Flynnie? You’re right. I’m going to keep doing that, and you can give me a call when you two are done doing whatever it is you’re doing here. I’m not getting involved.” She stood up, and slapped her share of the money for dinner down on the table. Taelia was typically a bright, easygoing person, but Flynn had seen her pissed off enough times to know that right now, she was furious. He wondered how heavily the strain of thinking she had sent him to his death had weighed on her, and felt quite terrible that he hadn’t pressed harder for permission to give her a call. Mathias probably would have let him, if he was persistent. Considering the ominous shadow that had fallen over the man’s countenance now, though, Flynn thought he would be lucky if Mathias ever wanted to look at him again.

“Good,” Mathias snapped. “It’s not like we need your help at all. This whole situation I have here is well under control.”

“Good.” she shot him a cold, pointed smile. “Here’s my card if you want to give me a call when you’re done with him. If he shows up dead for real this time, I will know _exactly_ whose fault it is.”

This made Mathias scoff.

“You think I’m the kind of person who can’t hide a body?”

Oh.

Flynn _really_ didn’t like that.

Taelia dropped her business card between them, turned on her heels, and stalked out of the diner. The silence she left in her wake rang loudly, and fed the cloud of anger that loomed over Mathias’ head. Flynn sucked in a deep breath, and went to say something to lighten the mood, but Mathias cut him off with a hand raised and pushed towards his face.

“Don’t.” he snapped. “Don’t even open your mouth.”

Flynn had a feeling the rest of the evening was going to be very awkward indeed.

…

They were driving through town on the way back to the Bed and Breakfast when Mathias stopped by the gates to the port, undid his seatbelt, and climbed out of the car.

“Uh, Mat?”

His companion hadn’t spoken to him since they had left the restaurant, merely driving with his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles looked like they might pop out of his skin. The way he was glowering made Flynn’s skin prickle, and at the back of his mind he wondered if the fellow might snap, and punch him. He ran his tongue over his front teeth in his mouth, remembering how much it had cost to get them replaced, and twisted his fingers together with a nervous speed that might have been distracting, were he even conscious of it.

“Get out of the car please,” Came the response, and Mathias slammed the driver's door with alarming force. Heart thudding against his ribs, Flynn did as instructed.

The port was small, but familiar, and if Flynn could have picked a place for them to go to have a heavy conversation this probably would have been the last one. At dusk, the boardwalks were cut in neon and halogen, long shadows of masts stretching over chicken wire fences. The sound of rigging clanking against steel, and water knocking ceaselessly against the underside of boats, echoed in the emptiness, but even though the place looked deserted Flynn knew there was no way in hell they were alone. Mathias was already striding away from the carpark, towards the water, and Flynn had to break into a slow jog to catch up to him. Those slim little legs could move fast, when they wanted to.

“Mat?” he slowed once he was in range, but walked behind him a little, hesitant to draw fully to his flank.

“Flynn.” he responded, cold and stern. Flynn felt his cheeks darken, but not in the familiar and pleasant way he had found them doing lately.

“Are you... mad at me?” he asked. Mathias scoffed.

“Mad at you? God, I don’t know Flynn. Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because... uh. Taelia?”

Mathias turned his head to shoot him a glare, and Flynn could see his jaw was tensed like it had been that day in the car, when they found the cameras by the cabin in the woods.

“Oh! you mean the _detective_ you’re _working for_ and _forgot to tell me about?”_

 _“_ Hey!” Flynn’s instinctive response was to be on the defensive, in the combative way he knew best. “I’m not working for her! I was Informing. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, is there?”

“Yes! And I’ll have you know, I only did it because I know her, and I owe her. She and I go way back.”

“Oh, was she the one you were married to, then?”

The question hit him like a pigeon flying into his face.

“What?”

Mathias was glowering, in a way that reminded him of how his middle school girlfriend had reguarded him when he had blown her off for a movie with his friends. Flynn deduced very quickly that no matter how much Mathias _wanted_ to be pissy about his failure to mention his ulterior motives, he was most of all upset because he had thought, for a single moment, that Flynn and Taelia had been or possibly still were romantically entangled. The prospect was almost ridiculous in its clarity.

“Her. The detective. Was she the one you were married to?”

“Mat,” Flynn’s exhasperation made his voice crack. “that was a _joke._ I’ve never been married. Never even thought about it.” he hesitated, and then: “Except y’know. Pretending to be married. It’s kinda fun. I uh... I liked the part where we held hands.”

A quiet wind sighed over the port, lifting the ends of Mathias’ neatly kept bangs. The expression on his face was difficult to interpret, made even more obscure by the shadows and neon flow of the artificial lighting. The tension between them was crackling, Flynn could still feel the sticky, anxious sweat on his palms. The thoughts that passed through his own mind were frantic, indistinguishable, and smeared together in a maelstrom of regret and sorrow and embarrassment and desperation.

“Holding hands.” Mathias repeated, unhelpfully.

“Yeah. You know. Make pretend... it’s easier to trick yourself into the role when you’re holding hands. Where you really do think you could be living a life of date nights, PTA meetings, white picket fence... all that.”

Flynn thought of the suburb Tess had dropped them in, the day they had left Shicago. Mathias scoffed.

“Really? White picket fences?” there was a wry tone of amusement in his voice, though. The faintest hint of yielding. Flynn could have cried in relief to hear it. He nodded emphatically.

“Sure. Can’t have a dream home without a white picket fence, right?”

“I don’t think I trust you to pick a house, Flynn. Last time I trusted you to do that, you took me to a shack in the woods.”

“You didn’t like the shack? A lick of paint that place would be perfect for you. Maybe we can get rid of all those cameras though. They kinda creeped me out.”

Flynn laughed awkwardly. Mathias stood there a moment longer, regarding him, trying to gauge the cracks where the edges of his mask met his real face. For the first time, Flynn knew with all his heart that Mathias wasn’t buying the idiot act. Yet, he could probably sense that more than ever, Flynn needed him to.

Mathias heaved a sigh, regardless, and held out his hand. Flynn couldn’t make himself accept it fast enough, blood pushing through his veins with electric intensity. The warmth of that familiar palm was almost sweet enough to make his heart fall out of his chest.

“Flynn,” Mathias said gently, the tension in his jaw still faintly audible in the way he shaped his words. “Hypothetically, in this little universe where I’m your husband and we have a white picket fence, I’m asking you. Is there _anything else_ about all of this that you aren’t telling me?”

And Flynn came so close. _So close_ , to telling him the truth. To letting it all spill out of him, like vomit the morning after he downed two whole bottles of gin. The only thing that stopped him was Mathias’s eyes. The eyes that even in shadow, looked at him as though he was good, and beautiful. And even though every clever and sensible part of his soul was screaming at him, to be honest, there was that one stubborn strand of selfishness that told him if he did, Mathias might not look at him that way anymore. Flynn thought he might die, if Mathias didn’t look at him that way anymore.

“... Nothing.” He said, and the word tasted like salt on his tongue, and the soft exhalation that came out of his company felt like a blade slicing the meat of his heart.

“Okay.”

Mathias conceded, and then he leaned in close. He tilted his chin upwards in invitation, and Flynn closed the gap between them without hesitation.

When he kissed him, he stopped thinking for a while.

...

Flynn was content, but paradoxically uneasy, as they settled in for the evening. Mathias picked a movie to stream, and they reclined against the pillows on the bed, though both knew before they even started that there wasn’t going to be much attention paid to the movie. For the most part, this was an excuse to just lie around and kiss each other like nervous teenagers, tentative and shy at first but then with a warm, eager authenticity that made Flynn’s heart ache. Mathias, leant against his chest, toyed with his hair, as he watched the film unfolding on the laptop on his knee. The touch was strange, but also deeply comforting, right up until casual hair twisting became tugging, and wriggling, and downright restlessness. Flynn had to remove his hand, and ask him what was wrong.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly, as though embarrassed to be caught so deep in his thoughts. “I’ve just been pondering a few things, I guess. About this job. About you. All that.”

“All that?” Flynn raked his fingers through Mathias’ hair now, testing to see if his response to the touch was as positive as Flynn’s had been. It was soft, and clean, and inspired all sorts of feelings deep in Flynn’s core. Tucked under his arm, Mathias shifted just so, turning to press even closer and nosing the side of his neck. Flynn couldn’t help the way his thoughts went, then, mixing desire and apprehension into the strangest emotional cocktail he had ever imbibed.

“Maybe I should just give up,” he said softly. “I’m tired, I’m frustrated, I’m only here still because I’ve been stubborn about how awfully I fucked everything up. Taelia and the Uncrowned will be happy to take over the job, I know, and when I get back home I can take a year off. Maybe spend more time just walking around looking at stuff and not thinking about how much of a disaster this has been.”

Flynn felt the clutch of anxiety in his chest lessen at the very mention of such a thing. Mathias abandoning the case? Never needing to find out things Flynn may or may not have excluded from his story? He tried to keep his expression neutral as he nodded, informing him that yes, that was probably a good idea.

“I can write you when you’re home,” Flynn informed him, and he meant it very much. “I hate to say it, but I actually kind of like you. Maybe we can start over?”

“Mmm. Maybe.”

Mathias gave him a sorrowful little smile, and let his head drop against Flynn’s chest. He seemed so unguarded in that moment. Like his entire soul was pleading for Flynn’s protection, needing Flynn’s own heart to respond to him in kind.

Flynn did not find his sleep came easy that evening. Despite the flickering hope that hearing Mathias consider going home had ignited in him, he couldn’t shake the worry that Mathias might not want to keep in touch, once he was gone. Flynn, after all, was a nobody. A kind of seedy ex-smuggler, with no education, no job, no real ambition besides just getting by. He should have known the minute he felt the compulsion to kiss his captor, that he was about to make a grievous mistake, and indeed making himself vulnerable like this was probably the stupidest mistake he had made for a while. Maybe if he wasn’t so busy being infatuated, he would have beaten himself up for it, but right now there was a voice in the back of his mind whispering, the same thing he had said to Mathias that morning at the convention.

_Is a man not allowed to make mistakes in his life?_

Maybe a man like him, maybe.

Flynn didn’t want this to be a mistake though. Things with Mathias had gotten off on the wrong foot, and it was embarrassing to catch feelings for someone who was obviously older, obviously better, obviously thought of him as nothing more than a fool.

Maybe he was a fool.

Maybe things would have been different if they met some other way. Say, Flynn had met him at a bar, or at an art gallery. Mathias seemed more like that type. The thought made Flynn smile. The prospect of doing something like that with him was so very sweet. When was the last time he had daydreamed about doing activities with someone? Mathias, as if sensing the warmth of his fantasies, wriggled closer. Flynn pressed kisses against his forehead. His cheek. The top of his head. Everywhere he could reach, Flynn kissed him, until he mumbled something and rolled away onto his side. When Flynn finally did fall asleep, he dreamed of meeting him in London sometime, his mind full of visions of an airport he had never been in his life.


	9. PART TWO: DIVISION ~ CHAPTER SEVEN: MATHIAS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no editing babes we just tryna get this out as best we can.
> 
> NSFW warning

Mathias lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet the million fragmented thoughts that ran like currents through the tributaries of his mind. At his side, Flynn was sleeping; his body was warm and his arm looped reassuringly across Mathias’ chest. It did not bring him any comfort, however - Mathias had never felt so terrified in his life.

The act of sharing a bed was one that had been unknown to him for so, so long, that at some point his chastity had become a part of his personality. He didn’t like the vulnerability that had suddenly surfaced, he was embarrassed over the way the man had grown on him so fast, and he was unsettled by how sorely he wanted to reach out and touch him now in the darkness. All of the anger and frustration he had pent up since they met had left him, and what he was left with was fundamentally humiliating and unspeakably dangerous.

This was _so_ unprofessional.

He really just ached to lean in close and press his lips against Flynn’s face.

Mathias had had seen what these situations did to his agents far too often. A dead lover, years of therapy. Attempts by women to seduce him were met by cool indifference, and in a lot of instances that gave him a certain edge in the field, but here he was in bed with Flynn, now, and Flynn hadn’t even been trying to seduce him but somehow, he had rendered that edge blunter than the pillow he currently had his head on. Rather than confront this thought further, though, and end up making a dreadful mistake, Mathias pulled himself out of bed and padded to the ensuite bathroom. The tile floor was cold underfoot, and when he hit the light switch the cold blue fluorescents hurt his eyes.

He didn’t know why he thought this would help. Maybe he had hoped the chill tile would cool his flushed skin, or that the harsh reality reflected in the mirror would ground him. Mathias was in his forties. Flynn was twenty-nine. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl, and guilt sat in his belly like a heavy mass of knotted ropes and cable ties. Flynn still had a whole life ahead of him. He was too young to be another victim on a list Mathias kept in his back office at home.

The list of all the dead men and women who had lost their lives, or had their hearts broken, because they fucked his spies.

He rubbed his hand wearily against the side of his face, feeling the stubble of a few days on his cheeks. He was going grey around the temples, the harsh light only emphasized this fact, and no matter how much he slept these days he still looked tired.

He jumped when he heard someone clear their throat softly behind him.

“Alright, Mat?”

Mathias spun around with lightning speed – his reflexes were still as good as they ever had been but apparently his hearing left a lot to be desired. He would have liked to think he would hear Flynn if he got out of the bed, and he knew the other man didn’t exactly walk with poise or grace. So how was it he managed to sneak up on him like that unnoticed? Not even the best agents in Europe could do that.

“Flynn! I thought you were asleep.”

“Nope. Pretending.” He leaned against the bathroom doorframe and gave him a lazy smile. This was a lie – not only were his movements languid and uncoordinated, his voice was raspy with sleep. His hair hung around his shoulders in a messy tumble, and Mathias felt his heart ache a little. He was so handsome.

“Why?” He asked anyway. Flynn shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep without you snoring for some reason.”

“Will you stop saying that? About the snoring?”

He shook his head, but his expression was warm. Smug. Somewhat content.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asked, changing the subject. Mathias tried very hard not to look at the freckles on his bare shoulders, or the smooth expanse of his belly and chest. He was a thick and muscled, but his stomach was a bit chubby. He wore tattoos in black ink over his upper arms, and they depicted oceans and ships and constellations and mermaids beckoning victims into the sea. Mathias felt his professionalism erode a little more under a soft wave of desire.

“Nothing,” Mathias lied, turning away from him and pretending to be interested in the neat stack of towels the hosts had left on a wicker chair by the sink.

“I don’t believe that,” Mathias felt all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end – Flynn was standing right behind him now, and he had moved with all the speed and silence of one of his agents. He remembered, fleetingly, the wardrobe office in which they had met. How easily Flynn had pinched his dogtags without attracting notice. It occurred to him that perhaps his lack of subtlety was all an act. Either that, or Mathias was _very_ distracted.

It might have been a combination of both.

“No lie,” he insisted, trying to map Flynn’s exact distance, his posture, his next move, based on every sense he possessed besides sight. “I’ve always had issues sleeping. Insomnia and the like.”

“You’ve slept fine since we’ve been here.”

“Coincidence.”

A soft touch against his back. The place between his shoulder blades, slightly above the neckline of his tank top. It was electric.

“I will not tell a lie,” Flynn murmured, “being in bed while you are wandering around like this makes me nervous. I believe you aren’t going to kill me, but my monkey brain is having a rave in here.”

Mathias knew the feeling. Even if ‘fear’ wasn’t the pre-emanant basal instinct he was experiencing right now.

“Sorry.” Mathias said, summoning his composure and turning his eyes up to look at Flynn in the mirror they stood in front of. “You can go back. I will be in in a minute.”

“No way. You need to come with me. Besides.” Flynn met his gaze in the reflection, and gave him a soft grin. The hand that had been between Mathias’s shoulders skated down his back, and it made him noticeably shiver. “You look like you need me to hold your hand again.”

“Uhm. Not right now.”

“Are you sure?” His smile was becoming devilish now. “how about another kiss? We can practice some more at being pretend married.”

“No! absolutely not. No more Kissing, for a bit. I need to just. Hm.”

His face was red, and it was obvious in the way he shivered when Flynn touched him that he didn’t dislike that idea as much as he said.

Flynn arched his eyebrows, as though he didn’t believe what he was saying, and Mathias relented. It really didn’t take much.

“Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit of kissing.”

Just a little.

Mathias could confront the question of whether or not he should stop this in the morning. He closed the gap between them, moving his hands to cradle the sides of Flynn’s face, and kissed him.

He had nice lips, that was for sure. Warm and soft and welcoming. Mathias hadn’t kissed anyone on the lips for years and years before tonight - So long that he had completely forgotten the sensation. When Flynn moved his arm to embrace him, lips parting so he could slip his tongue against Mathias’ mouth, Mathias felt like his legs might give way beneath his weight. Fortunately, Flynn was holding him close, kissing him fiercely so that Mathias might have wondered how long it had been since someone had kissed _him,_ if he were in control of his cognitive faculties. He was vaguely aware of Flynn guiding them backwards. Of being led back into the room and pushed down onto the bed. The body over him was warm and large and so, _so_ sensual. His muscles felt powerful under Mathias’s hands. The softness of his belly, and the fine pale hairs on his forearms, ignited a fire in him unlike anything he had experienced before.

“ _Wow,_ ” Flynn’s breath escaped him in a giddy laugh when they parted. Mathias felt himself flushing all over his face and neck, gazing up at the face hovering mere inches away, still tasting fevered kisses and achingly aware of the hips pressed eagerly against his. “I thought you said seducing people wasn’t part of your job description.”

“It’s not. For the next ten minutes I’m off the clock.”

“Ten minutes?!” Flynn giggled again. “Should I be insulted?”

“You seem like the efficient type.”

“And you seem like someone who appreciates efficiency.”

Now it was Mathias’ turn to laugh. Flynn really was unflappable…

The laughter was swallowed by another kiss, and hazily through an exchange of tongues it occurred to him that he hadn’t had any preparation to do this tonight. God, he hadn’t had any preparation to do this for over a decade. How was he supposed to say as much, with Flynn groping his waist and rutting against his pelvis like a beast in heat, and his own cock so hard he thought he might finish even faster than he had predicted. That _would_ be embarrassing. Terrible to try and explain.

_Noone has kissed me in seventeen years and I almost came in my pants when you touched my waist._

Jesus Christ.

A wanton moan escaped him when Flynn moved his mouth down his jaw, to his neck, and began kissing him there. Suddenly, ridiculously, he remembered their host on the night they had checked in to the bed and breakfast. She had asked them to keep the volume down. He hadn’t really believed he would ever be qin a situation where he would need to make an effort to do that.

He brought a hand up to his mouth and bit down on it, as soft kisses turned to gentle suction, and then the graze of teeth against the point at the base of his throat. He could feel Flynn was just as hard as he was, and his breath caught in just the same way, and he only had a moment to think how incredible it was to have a man so handsome and dynamic and lovely interested in a dour old piece of work like him before he was interrupted, by a loud, piercing beep. It shattered the feverish quiet of their intimacy, making Flynn jump back and jerk upright as though he was about to be accosted. Even Mathias was startled, and it took him a few seconds to register what it was.

Fuck.

Flynn’s tracer. Mathias had forgotten he had even been wearing that.

“Shit,” Flynn laughed, after a moment. His voice was barely audible over the racket. “That gave me a fright.”

“Your heart rate is elevated.” Mathias told him breathlessly. “give me your hand.”

Flynn did so. Mathias stripped the watch off him effortlessly and tossed it across the room. It fell silent with a small thunk against the hardwood floor.

“Was that... expensive?” Flynn asked.

“Yes. Now where were we?”

Mathias couldn’t be bothered caring about it right now.

They resumed almost immediately, for which Mathias was glad, and the wristband lay forgotten on the floor as Flynn’s reassuring weight fell against his chest. His beard tickled as his kisses descended down Mathias’ body, and Mathias bit back a gasp when he pushed open his thighs. Those thick hips slotted between them easily, and Flynn’s calloused hands pushed under Mathias’ sleeping shirt in a way which betrayed his enthusiasm to touch. His fingers dipped teasingly over Mathias’ navel, thumbing the trail of hair between his bellybutton and the band of his underpants, and a low, long moan slipped from Mathias’ lips. Flynn echoed with a groan of longing that he muffled, burying his face between spread legs. His breath was hot even though the cotton of Mathias’ boxer briefs, and his eagerness was genuine. It saw the loneliness of decades striking him, the impact like the crack of a dreadfully expensive watch against the ground. It hurt like drawing air did, after being under water for so long.

His cock twitched against Flynn’s mouth. His fingers curled white knuckled into the sheets. He swore, loudly, and it if he was less turned on by the whole situation he would have been mortified by the waiver in his voice - It sounded barely short of tortured.

“ _Flynn,”_

And then, the mouth was gone, and Flynn was kissing him again. The bedframe creaked under their weight and his hand wriggled between their bodies to tug down the front of his underwear. He rutted his cock questioningly against Mathias’, still contained beneath damp cloth.

“How do you want to do this?” He asked.

“This is good,” Mathias said, not really thinking about his answer because honestly, he didn’t care as long as Flynn made him cum.

Flynn grunted, and eased Mathias’ length out too, and his hands were large enough that he could press them together and Mathias had to swallow the gasp that threatened to awaken everyone in the bed and breakfast.

It felt so good. Shockingly good. He had forgotten what it was like to be touched by someone other than himself, and he had forgotten the excitement of being unable to predict the next maneuver, or gesture, or squeeze of the hand. Flynn’s grip was firmer than his own, faster, and aided by the slip of precum that dripped from the head of his cock. The strength of his body was evident in the way he propped himself up, hovering close, but not crushing him, and feeling small and delirious and almost choking on the pleasure Mathias gripped his face and kissed him. It had hardly been five munities and hew was already feeling the cool sweat of climax upon him, the muscles in his loins wound tight, threatening to break at any moment but especially when Flynn’s tongue slid against the roof of his mouth.

Flynn was the one who finished first, though - his shoulders quaked, his fist froze, and he whimpered helplessly against Mathias’ lips as his hips stuttered to a halt. The hot spill over Mathias’ belly felt searing, agonizingly sexy, and he knew he wouldn’t make it much longer – especially not when Flynn’s hair slipped, and fell in a soft curtain against his cheek.

 _“Holy Fuck,_ Mat _,”_

It was half plea, half praise. He made a soft noise, nose pressed against the side of Mathias’ neck, and it only took another stroke before Mathias succumbed to the tide of release – it pulled through his whole frame in deep, blissful throbs, and it was easily the best orgasm he had had in his life.

Or at least, the best orgasm of his life so far.

…

Flynn passed him the glass of water, and with a contented sigh he slipped back beside him in the bed.

“Your hair is a mess,” He said warmly, leaning back against the pillows to watch Mathias drink. His own hair was hardly a picture of composure, but Mathias supposed that shorter hair was more prone to stick up at odd angles. He drained the glass, set it on the bedside table, and did his best to smooth it down.

Flynn looked beautiful in the low, orange glow of a bedside lamp. His expression was serene, his body statuesque, and mathias in comparison felt rumpled and sweaty and a little bit embarrassed. In the aftermath, he couldn’t help but feel like the whole exchange had been… pretty reckless. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled, not even for the first time since Flynn had gotten up to fetch towels and water and various other things to make the bed sleep-able once again. “I’m really sorry, Flynn. That was so unlike me.”

“I know.” Flynn told him, gesturing for him to come close and lie against his bared chest. “But I don’t mind. I’ve been wanting to do that since yesterday morning, when I woke up and you were being all clingy.”

Mathias scoffed at this, but couldn’t help remembering the way they had been cozied together, so warm and so close and so peaceful...

God. It _had_ been good.

“I don’t remember that,” Mathias lied, pressing his nose idly against the edge of a bird shaped tattoo on Flynn’s shoulder,

“Liar,” Flynn teased. “You weren’t asleep.”

“And how would you know?”

“You weren’t snoring. Duh.”

Mathias hissed and jabbed a finger into a squishy roll over his hip. Rather than serve as a scolding, however, it only made him laugh and squeeze Mathias closer.

“God Mat,” he mused. “I really, really like you. So much.”

Mathias sighed.

He replayed the events of the past few days, all the things that had gone wrong and then Flynn, somehow the only thing that had gone right. Flynn Fairwind was the kind of thing that it was impossible to plan for, especially after so many years of jobs and traveling being exactly the same, but now he had had a taste of variety to furnish the series of terrible incidents that had troubled him Mathias was feeling a dull horror swelling in his chest. Had he really spent _so long_ living his life the exact same? It seemed impossible, on paper, to be someone in his line of work simultaneously locked in a cycle of utter predictability, yet here he was. Or rather, there he had been, since now he was entangled naked with a strange, beautiful man and Mathias was finally able to understand.

 _This is not how I want to spend my days,_ he thought resolutely. _No more than I want to spend them shaking hands at formal dinners._

Mathias had had enough. He was going to go home, and start something new. Maybe he would learn how to fix cars, or something. He had a ticklish, awkward, slightly impulsive notion of who he wanted to come with him on this journey, too.

“Hey Flynn?”

“Mhmm?”

Flynn was lying in a state of calm, fingers tracing circles on his back. Mathias felt himself flush, deeply ashamed by what he was going to say, but god help him he had made up his mind now and so, he wasn’t going to stop.

“I’ve made a decision about whether I want to abandon this mission,” he said. “And I think, my decision is yes. I want to go home.”

He paused for a moment, before continuing.

“Incidentally, if you wanted to come visit me, so we can spend some time together that isn’t... y’know. A kidnapping situation? I think I would like that a lot.”

Flynn’s eyes snapped open at this, lit up by surprise.

“What?” he asked, disbelieving. Mathias gave him an awkward smile, and repeated himself. There was a hideous moment where he thought Flynn would laugh at him, or worse that he might say no, but after a startled pause his face broke into a broad grin. He did laugh then, but kindly.

“God Mat, I would _love_ that. I was just thinking about how bad I want to get out of this country, too.”

A fortunate confluence then. Mathias felt relief wash over him. He smiled, seeking Flynn’s hand beneath the sheets and lacing their fingers together. They fell silent, then, sinking into their own busy thoughts, and content that he had finally reached a decision, Mathias slipped into sleep.


End file.
